


Lilium

by looker



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-05-24 15:33:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 42,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6158278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/looker/pseuds/looker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryouma Echizen travels to Japan after Tezuka Kunimitsu recommended he learn the ways of the coven underneath the teachings of Fuji Shusuke. Slice of life adventures ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 <\------- fuji


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the real fic starts here

Tezuka was a witch hunter. The fifth in a long line, and one of the few remaining in the country. It was awkward, then, that his best friend was a witch, but it hadn’t happened accidentally. Fuji had sought him out specifically, when they were both young and at one of the meetings his grandfather would hold with the witch clans in their area. Fuji had been the centre of attention at the meeting. Both witches and witch hunters alike were interested in him, both for the same reason – his potential for magic was incredible. Almost frightening, if you were twitchy about that kind of thing.

Fuji had grabbed him and pulled him away when the adults started talking. Tezuka hadn’t thought anything of it – they were the only people their age at the meeting, and the long discussions were boring for kids to listen to. If this had happened a few years later, when he was less naïve of his and Fuji’s different positions, he might have refused to go.

Fuji wanted to show him something. That was why he’d dragged him out into the garden of his grandfather’s house, behind a wall where nobody would see them. He took a knife out of his pocket, and for a split-second Tezuka realized the danger he’d put himself in.

Fuji turned it on himself, though. He drew the blade along the middle of his palm, deliberately and deep enough to make Tezuka flinch, then turned his palm over and let his blood fall the ground. The grass sizzled underneath where it landed, and for a moment, a plume of smoke rose in the shape of a vague figure.

Fuji’s eyes, which were a vivid blue and wide while he did it, creased closed into the same smile he’d wore indoors. He said, pleasantly, “What do you think?”

“That’s illegal,” Tezuka said, bluntly. “Blood magic is forbidden.”

“What are they going to do?” Fuji teased, taking a step towards him. Without thinking, Tezuka took a step back. “Burn me?”

“I’ll tell,” Tezuka said, feeling his temper rising. He couldn’t do anything, but he was hot headed, and he hated being challenged.

“No you won’t.” Fuji smiled, and leant forward to grab a hold of his wrist before he could move away from him again. Tezuka could feel slick, hot blood against his skin. “Because we’re going to be friends.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> that boys the prince of witchcraft

Fuji’s shop was small, but it was in a nice part of town and he liked it. His parents had bought him a one year lease for the building as a graduation present (partly to get him back to Japan, he thought - he’d studied in America, and they hated having him so far away), and he’d made enough money in that first year to keep it open. Mostly from taking photos at weddings and other events rather than sales, though. The shop was usually quiet.

Not this morning, though. Fuji had been flicking through a magazine at the counter when the door slammed open, disturbing the peace. The displays near the door rattled, but didn’t tip over. Whoever this boy was, he wasn’t here to buy lenses or ask about camera repair. He had a cat basket in one hand, and a sports bag slung over his shoulder that was bulging, like he’d tried to stuff everything he owned into it.

Fuji knew why he was there. The other was taller than him and broad shouldered, but his features still looked boyish and his limbs were a little gangly, like he was still growing into them. He was probably running out of time for an apprenticeship to be appropriate, but was still young enough to find one. And if by the way this boy was looking at him was any indication, one had just come through his doorway.  
  
“Are you Fuji Shusuke?” The boy said. His voice was deeper than Fuji had expected, possibly deeper than his own. A meowing sound - if you could call it that - came from within the cat basket in his hand.  
  
Fuji nodded, eyebrows raised. He stood from the stool he had sat himself on as he had begun to shift through a customer’s photos that he had just developed, neatly placing them into the thick manila envelopes he used for delivery. The boy didn’t break eye contact with him as he rounded the counter, coming to stand in front of him. “I am. Can I ask who you are?”  
  
The boy thrust a hand out, rudely and curtly getting to the point: “I’m Ryouma Echizen. I’d like for you to hire me to work here, and become my master in witchcraft.”  
  
Laughter came to him unwillingly, bubbling out brightly. The boy - Ryouma - narrowed his eyes, his outstretched hand unmoving, still waiting to be reciprocated. Fuji took his hand finally, grasping the boy’s gangly fingers with his own delicate ones, and smiled at him. “I guess I could do that, Ryouma Echizen. Would you like to sit down and tell me how you found me in the first place, first?”  
  
He led Ryouma over to the counter. Fuji’s shop was relatively small and quaint, so the “counter” was more of a neat little table Tezuka had found at a garage sale, but it was the perfect height for the stools he already had. There were photos - his own photography - hung up on wires hanging from the ceiling, and they rippled slightly in the breeze that was coming from the door that had been left open by Ryouma. Fuji didn’t mind, as the fresh air was likely good for the cacti he had dotted around for decor.  
  
He took his place on the stool he had been on before, and Ryouma sat on the one on the opposite side of the table, carefully setting the cat carrier down.  
  
“You have a cat?” Fuji asked, making pleasant conversation.  
  
Ryouma gave him a long, questioning look. “Yes.”  
  
“So do I.” Fuji grinned, leaning into his hand as he set his elbow onto the counter. “Maybe they’ll get along!”  
  
The boy nodded a little shyly, eyes panning to the cat carrier.  
  
“So, Ryouma Echizen.” Fuji tapped a finger against the wood grain of the table absently as he gazed at the younger man. “Who told you about me?”  
  
“Tezuka,” Ryouma said, without hesitation or hitch. Fuji found it surprising, but not too surprising. He and Tezuka were long distance friends, communicating largely through short phone calls and brief letters. It wasn’t either of their decisions, but Tezuka’s work brought him out of country, and distance made the heart grow fonder, doesn’t it?  
  
“So you’re from the United States?” Fuji asked. It was the country Tezuka had been stationed in for the last year and a half, the longest he’d been in a country for an extended amount of time. Fuji knew Tezuka, and Fuji knew that it would take longer than his usual month-long trips to make a connection with someone so strong as to recommend them to come visit Fuji. Fuji, who was off limits from most of Tezuka’s conversation topics.  
  
“Yes,” Ryouma said. For a foreigner, Ryouma had excellent Japanese, though Fuji could detect a hint of an accent in speech now that he knew. “He mentioned you in one of our conversations at a party. When he said you were a witch…well.”  
  
Fuji hummed knowingly. “Not many people outside of the neighborhood know that, actually. Consider yourself special.” Ryouma gave Fuji a surprisingly offended look, as if he didn’t like being called special. “It’s rare for Tezuka to mesh so well with someone who is interested in witchcraft. You know what he does, don’t you?”  
“Of course I do.” The certainty in Ryouma’s voice did not fall deaf on Fuji’s ears. Ryouma’s eyebrows raised slightly as he spoke of Tezuka. “I wouldn’t have even asked him about it if I didn’t think he knew anything about it. He knew I was in some trouble, and he said you’d give me a job. When I asked if you were the witch friend he kept mentioning, he told me. And I want you to teach me.”  
  
The “witch friend”. The name stuck out to Fuji, and his smile tightened. “What makes you think my type of witchcraft will mesh well with you? What if you can’t handle it?”  
  
“Then I’ll find someone else to teach me, but keep working here.”  
  
Fuji barked out a laugh, but Ryouma’s slight smug smirk did not budge. Fuji had to admit - he admired this kid’s confidence. “Fine. You can work here. I’ll try to teach you what I know, but it remains to be seen if you’ll be any good at it.” Fuji made a mental note to take it slow with him. If he didn’t, he’d plunge Ryouma immediately into a vat of blood. “Also, where are you staying?”  
  
“Don’t know yet.” Ryouma looked a little sheepish at this confession. The cat in his carrier meowed pitifully. “I was hoping to stay with you.”  
Fuji shook his head immediately. Fuji took residence in the apartment loft above his shop - and he appreciated the time alone. Plus, he had to give a certain Tezuka Kunimitsu a phone call that night. Ryouma looked defeatedly away, eyebrows furrowed. They sat there in the tense silence for a few moments before it occurred to Fuji - he did have a place for Ryouma to stay.  
  
“I know just the place,” Fuji said. Ryouma looked at him suspiciously, but nodded - any place was better than no place, right?

-

To say Momoshiro Takeshi was annoyed would be an understatement. He stood at the door of his small apartment with Fuji, watching as Ryouma unleashed his cat (or, in Fuji’s opinion, a miniature monster) into the apartment. It immediately jumped onto the card table Momo had set up, knocking off a cup that luckily landed in a pile of clothes.  
  
“You should have tidied up a little bit,” Fuji said lightly.  
  
Momo gave him an appalled expression. “You called me thirty minutes ago and told me you had a roommate for me! I didn’t have time! I was at work!” Momo waved his hands around, gesturing towards Ryouma, then the various messes around the room. “I couldn’t have possibly-”  
  
The cat knocked over another glass, this time missing a soft landing. It landed with the sharp smash of ceramic shattering, and Ryouma made a whining noise that felt uncharacteristic of what Fuji knew about him (which, admittedly, was not much). “Karupin,” he whined, kneeling at the shards as the cat rushed away to hide. “Look what you did!”  
  
“My mug!” Momo cried, rushing to Ryouma’s side. “My perfectly good mug! Your cat broke it!”  
  
“Karupin didn’t mean to!”  
  
“I don’t care if it meant to! It’s just a dumbass cat!”  
  
“Don’t call my cat a dumbass!”  
  
“Looks like you two will get along just fine,” Fuji said, interrupting them just as they grabbed each other’s collars. Momo looked over at Fuji and scowled, hand slipping from Ryouma’s collar to wrap an arm around his neck, bringing him in for a ferocious noogie. Ryouma yelled out, and Fuji laughed.

-

Later on the phone, Fuji was NOT laughing.  
  
“Tezuka,” he said in a dangerous tone after Tezuka picked up his line, before he could even ask who was calling. “Why?”  
  
“Good evening, Fuji.” Tezuka’s low voice came through the speaker. There was a hint of amusement behind his otherwise blank voice, and it pissed Fuji off.  
  
“Ryouma Echizen?” He pressed.  
  
“He’s a smart kid,” Tezuka said. There was the sound of wind on the other line, and Fuji wondered if he had caught Tezuka on his way home from a job. “I met him half a year ago.”  
  
“You never mentioned him.”  
  
There was a pause. “I suppose I didn’t.”  
  
Fuji rubbed at his eyes. He was sitting in his apartment, looking out of the window to the street below. The only light on in his apartment was in the kitchen behind him, casting an orange glow over everything. It felt very...mystical. Fitting for a witch. “I never asked you to find me an apprentice, did I?”  
  
“No, but I knew you wanted one.” Fuji frowned. The wind noise disappeared, and instead the distance sound of voices replaced it. He had entered a building. “Because even after all these years, you still talk about witchcraft to me. Even with my job. And I can tell that you get frustrated not having anyone to teach.” There was a brief moment of silence other than the muffled background noise on Tezuka’s end. “Is that a thing with witches?”  
  
“They’re a replacement for kids,” Fuji said. Tezuka huffed in response. “So, Ryouma Echizen. What’s his story, Tezuka? Where did you find a boy and his cat that was so willing to join the world of witches?”  
  
Tezuka hummed mindlessly for a moment before speaking again, the rush of wind returning. Fuji closed his eyes and listened to the noise on the other end of the phone. The town he lived in was so quiet, it was kind of nice to hear the sounds of a bustling city. “Well, we met through work.”  
  
“He’s a witch hunter too?”  
  
“No, he was just...present.” The topic was awkward, and Tezuka quickly moved on. “We got to know each other rather well. He’s got a passion for sports, but he probably didn’t tell you that. He’s kind of quiet.”  
  
“Like you?”  
  
“Hm.” Fuji smiled. “His father is a warlock. Pretty powerful, too. Ever heard of Nanjiroh Echizen?”  
  
Fuji reclined in his chair, looking up at the ceiling. The streetlights outside cast dotted shadows on the proliferated surface. “I think so. He’s not active anymore.”  
  
“He wants to be more powerful than him. So I told him to go to you for guidance.”  
  
“How flattering,” Fuji said, and Tezuka mumbled something in response. Fuji didn’t need to see Tezuka to know he was embarrassed. “I’ll try my best to teach him all I know.”  
  
“Is he staying with you?”  
  
Snickering, Fuji leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his knees. “Of course not. I sent him to Momo’s.”  
  
There was such a long silence Fuji almost thought Tezuka had hung up on him. “Oh, Fuji.”  
  
“He needed a roommate, who better than the boy you’ve so lovingly sent me?”  
  
“I expect to see him in one piece when I come back.”  
  
A car drove by on the street below, the headlights stretching and compressing all the shadows in Fuji’s room. “Yeah, yeah.” Fuji stood, walking to his bedroom, littered with books and jars, a small altar on a desk. He paused at it, looking at his setup gently. “Goodnight, Tezuka.”  
  
“Goodnight.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ryouma ecchizens big break

Ryouma HATED living with Momoshiro.

Fuji was being obstinate in teaching him witchcraft, so most days he begrudgingly returned to the small, drafty apartment feeling unfulfilled and like he had wasted the day. He asked Fuji everyday - it had been a week by this point - to teach him something, ANYTHING, but Fuji just smiled at him and gave him a package to deliver somewhere in town. Momoshiro, if anything else, was kind enough to lend Ryouma his bicycle to ride around for deliveries, but that was all he was good for.

Momoshiro (he was determined to get Ryouma to call him “Momo-chan”, but no way in hell was that going to happen) was vocal about his dislike for Ryouma, calling him a brat and obnoxious all the time. He was only two years older than Ryouma, but he acted as if he was old as his father. He worked the night shift at a convenience store nearby, so luckily for Ryouma, they rarely saw each other when both were awake, but the times they did, it was terrible.

Everything that Momoshiro did annoyed Ryouma to some extent. Some days he would wake up while he was getting ready to go to Fuji’s shop and leer around him, complaining that he was in the way. When he vented his frustration about this to Fuji, Fuji unhelpfully smiled at him and told him they’d get along eventually. 

What was worse is that they essentially shared a bed. When he left America for Japan, Ryouma had definitely not expected to be roughing it in a tiny apartment with close sleeping quarters. Tezuka had spoken so highly of Fuji, Ryouma had assumed Fuji would at least have a nice place for him to sleep.

“Why can’t I move in here?” Ryouma asked one morning as Fuji sealed one of his patented envelopes. The address was already neatly printed on it in Fuji’s small handwriting. Everything Fuji did was tidy and careful, unlike everything Momoshiro did. Ryouma had known him for less than a month and he knew this. Fuji looked up at him through his eyelashes and Ryouma huffed in frustration. “You live all alone here! I don’t see why I can’t stay here.”

“I have my cat,” Fuji said. It was...ominous, the way he said that. 

“Cat’s don’t bother me,” Ryouma shot back. 

Fuji pushed the envelope across the table towards him, smiling kindly. “Can you go deliver this for me, please?”

“When are you going to teach me magic?” Ryouma asked, but he picked up the envelope anyway, tucking it under his arm. “Or am I going to be doing your errands the whole time?”

The memory of Fuji’s unaffected smile burned into the back of Ryouma’s eyelids as he lay in bed at night, his eyebrows scrunched up and his hand resting against his forehead. Karupin was curled up next to him, snoring in his sleep. It was one of the unfortunate times he and Momoshiro were awake at the same time, and Momoshiro was banging around in the main room of the apartment, and the smell of something cooking on the stove was making Ryouma’s stomach rumble. 

The second only good thing about Momoshiro was that he could cook. Only certain things, but that was more than Ryouma knew.

He rolled onto his side when Momoshiro reentered the bedroom, rummaging around in the mounds of clothes encircling the bed. 

“Hey, Echizen.”

Ryouma didn’t answer. 

“Hey,  _ brat _ .” He shoved at Ryouma’s legs, and Ryouma sprang up, glaring at him. “Have you seen my shirt?”

“No, I haven’t seen your shirt!” Ryouma sputtered. “I don’t keep track of your things.”

“We’re roommates!” Momoshiro whined. Ryouma rolled his eyes and laid back down as Momoshiro continued to dig through his things. “We’re roommates, but you don’t even care about me. What was Fuji thinking?” It was obvious Momoshiro was venting out loud, but Ryouma still made a noise of agreement. Karupin rolled over in his sleep, stretching his legs over Ryouma’s chest. “Why are you even  _ here _ ?” Momoshiro continued, his voice shaking slightly. “Fuji didn’t even tell me what you’re doing here. Just that you’re working for him. A complete stranger from outside the country coming to work for Fuji? Yeah right…”

“He’s teaching me witchcraft,” Ryouma interrupted, grumpy that Fuji hadn’t informed Momoshiro. Technically HE could have, but...that would require having a conversation with Momoshiro past a gruff “hey” or “we need toilet paper”. He lifted his head slightly and could see Momoshiro’s face, agape in shock. “What?”

“You’re one of them too, huh,” Momoshiro muttered, turning away after stammering for a few moments. “Magic and stuff. I don’t get it. You don’t need it. I don’t and I’m fine.”

“Maybe I’ll learn a ‘clean up the house’ spell for us,” Ryouma said tersely. “Or maybe a ‘find Momoshiro his shirt faster’ potion.”

“Ha ha,” Momoshiro deadpanned. Then, a small flicker of a smile warmed up his face, and he launched forward, grabbing Ryouma and giving him an affectionate - Ryouma supposed you could call it that - knuckle sandwich to the head. Ryouma yelled out a protest, waking Karupin up from the disruption, and shoved Momoshiro off to the best of his ability, which wasn’t far. Momoshiro hovered above him, a playful smile on his face. “You know, you can be funny sometimes, brat?”

“Huh,” Ryouma sputtered, rolling away from him. “Don’t you have to go to work?”

“Oh shit!” Momoshiro was off of him as soon as he was on him, finally snatching his work shirt from a pile and bustling out of the bedroom. Whatever he had been cooking smelt slightly burnt. Ryouma laid there until the front door slammed shut behind Momoshiro, and he seriously considered whether or not a “clean apartment” spell was possible.  He’d have to ask Fuji.

 

-

Ryouma walked into Fuji’s photography studio one morning to find that Fuji had guests. Fuji, in the three weeks that Ryouma had been there, working for him daily, had never had someone physically in his shop with them. A couple of customers dropping off their film, maybe, but never someone who had settled in with a cup of tea at his counter. Much less without Fuji there.

The man turned at the sound of the door opening, and he smiled at Ryouma. The biggest, goofiest smile Ryouma could have imagined. “Hello,” Ryouma said cautiously, shutting the door behind him, the small bells on the corner tinkling softly.

“Are you the apprentice?” The man asked. He had a friendly face beyond his large, goofy grin that Ryouma found incredibly welcoming. He nodded shortly, and the man beamed at him. “That’s great! Fujiko’s been looking forward to the day he’d-”

“Looking forward to what?” Fuji’s voice rang out as he came down the steps at the back of the store that led up to his upstairs apartment. He was carrying a platter of cheese and crackers - so sophisticated. Ryouma felt like maybe he had intruded on something out of his league. 

The man pouted at Fuji as Fuji set the platter down on the counter between their teacups. “I was just telling the kid how excited you were to finally have an apprentice!”

“Hm,” was all Fuji said. Very confidence inducing. Fuji perched on his stool and gestured towards the man. “Ryouma, this is Kawamura Takeshi. An old friend. He brings me groceries. A real stand up citizen.”

“Aw, shucks,” Kawamura said, rubbing the back of his head. 

“Are you a witch too?” Ryouma asked. He didn’t really have time for this - he had deliveries to make. 

Kawamura laughed heartily, waving his hand and shaking his head. “Oh, no, no. Fujiko tried teaching me before, but I just couldn’t control it!”

“He nearly caused my entire shop to explode,” Fuji affirmed.

“Have you learned any cool spells yet, Ryouma?” Kawamura asked, looking excitedly at him. 

Ryouma narrowed his eyes, sending a glare to Fuji. “No, not yet.”

“Ah, well, patience is a virtue,” Kawamura said sagely. It was good advice, if learning witchcraft hadn’t been the sole reason Ryouma had come to Japan in the first place. Kawamura nodded to himself, continuing: “Fujiko’s magic is very intimidating to get used to. He’s very good at it.”

“Oh, stop,” Fuji sighed, but he smiled at Kawamura anyway. 

“It’s true! You do all the...the blood things!” Kawamura exclaimed. Ryouma darted a look over at Fuji, who didn’t meet his gaze.  _ Blood things?  _ Ryouma still was very much a newbie when it came to witchcraft, but he knew what blood magic was. He also knew it was extremely dangerous. Fuji didn’t seem like the type, but Fuji wasn’t denying Kawamura’s claims. 

Ryouma picked up his package deliveries for the day and stuck them into his bag. “Nice to meet you,” he muttered at Kawamura, nodding slightly in goodbye. Kawamura smiled back, completely open and genuine, and Ryouma hurried out of there. 

“He seems like a good kid,” he heard Kawamura say before he shut the door behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

On the opposite side of town, there stood a small, quaint nursery. It was nothing particularly special, but something about it lured people in daily to see and buy all the delicately organized and tended flowers that were on display. 

It also likely helped that the owner was a bishounen.

Kirihara Akaya gazed at him from where he was seated, his legs spread out on the floor and his back pressed up against the brick wall. The interior walls of the shop were painted white bricks, and the floor was a light wood. It felt very airy, and the opened windows let in a nice summery breeze that rustled all the plants’ leaves. A radio played quietly by the register, the orchestral music barely audible above the clipping of scissors as the owner pruned some type of flower Kirihara had never seen before. 

“What’s that one?” He asked sleepily, finding himself more tired than he had thought he was. He yawned, and the owner turned towards him from where he was working. Yukimura Seiichi was really a beautiful man, with soft features and long, dark hair that he kept pulled back in a small ponytail. He reminded Kirihara of a mother, somehow - with the way Yukimura would gently smile at him when he did well at something or the way the corners of his lips would turn downwards sternly when he messed up a delivery because he got distracted by someone walking a dog. 

Now, Yukimura was giving him a gentle smile. Kirihara perked up considerably. Yukimura loved to discuss his plants, and Kirihara loved to hear about them, even if it was in one ear and out the other. “This is a delphinium flower, Akaya.”

Kirihara crawled over to where Yukimura stood and rose to his knees, peering over the table at the flower Yukimura was working with. It was a plant of small, purple flowers coming from a central stem. “What’s it called in normal person talk?” Kirihara asked.

“It’s a larkspur,” Yukimura said. Kirihara oohed and aahed. Yukimura was so smart. 

“Is this one poisonous too?”

Yukimura chuckled. “I wouldn’t eat it, if that’s what you mean.”

Kirihara laid his cheek down on the table, stare flickering between the flower and Yukimura as Yukimura resumed cutting the darker, dying flowers from the stem. Yukimura was very meticulous about every plant in the store - there wasn’t a single one that wasn’t given the utmost attention and care. With the grace and patience Yukimura had with every flower he tended, it was no surprise that so many people were drawn to his shop. Kirihara had downtime, working for Yukimura like this, but there was never longer than an hour where someone didn’t come, at least to window shop. The wind chimes by the door jingled as another breeze passed through the doorway. 

“Are you going to use this one in one of your spells?”

Yukimura’s hands stilled for a moment before he continued using the small pair of scissors to cut at the flower petals. “I’m not sure yet.”

“I think you should. The purple would look cool in a big magical  _ swoosh _ .” To explain, he waved his arms in a large circle above his head. Yukimura chuckled, reaching over to pat Kirihara on the head with his hand before going back to work. Kirihara settled back down, pleased.

Yukimura was also a witch. Kirihara had learned pretty quickly after getting employed that Yukimura didn’t only take care of his plants for business purposes, but also for witchcraft. He was unlike all the other witches Kirihara had met, too. Yukimura’s magic wasn’t bad, or scary, like some peoples. Yukimura’s magic was pretty, and gentle, just like Yukimura himself. Yukimura let him sit with him when he tended to his altar daily, and Kirihara always loved it. Even if he didn’t really understand it - Yukimura had never offered to teach him, but he didn’t mind - he found it endlessly interesting. Whenever Yukimura would grind one of his flowers with his pestle and mortar and a puff of smoke colored the same as the petals he sacrificed and he smiled, Kirihara could feel his heart beat excitedly. Yukimura really was the most elegant when he was doing his magic.

They sat together in a comfortable silence as Yukimura finished his task. He grabbed his phone and snapped a photo before going to put it back on the windowsill. Kirihara watched him as he rearranged the flower pots meticulously. 

Yukimura turned back to him, giving him a sharp gaze that startled him. “You should get to work.” 

The sun was still high in the sky, and Kirihara had several deliveries to make, but he was enjoying sitting there in Yukimura’s presence far too much to make an effort to get up. Kirihara whined like a little kid, pouting at his boss. “But Yukimura…”

“No buts,” Yukimura said, a little playfully, walking over and bopping Kirihara on the head. “Otherwise I’ll have to call Niou in to do some deliveries instead.”

Kirihara made a “blegh” noise in reaction to the thought of Yukimura needing to call in that trickster to do his job for him. They only ever called Niou in for big deliveries that Kirihara couldn’t do himself. He pushed himself up from the floor, nodding. “Got it, got it. I’ll be back later.”

“Thank you, Akaya.” If there was one thing about Yukimura, it was how genuinely thankful he was for all the people who worked for him - it filled Kirihara with a warm feeling of being wanted, and as he gathered the boxes he was to deliver, he felt light on his feet in the glow of Yukimura’s gratitude.


	6. Chapter 6

Ryouma met Fuji’s cat four weeks in.

He had always wondered where it could have been - that maybe Fuji kept it upstairs in his home, where Ryouma had never been. But Ryouma had almost a sixth sense for felines - he just knew where they were. But Fuji’s cat...it was like it didn’t exist. After three weeks, Ryouma assumed Fuji had lied about having a cat as an excuse to get Ryouma not to stay with him.

But then he met him.

Ryouma had returned from delivering a day’s worth of photograph packages to see a red headed man watering the flowers on the outside boxes of Fuji’s store’s windows. Like he had been with Kawamura, Ryouma was immediately suspicious - while Kawamura was rather plain looking, the redhead stood out as someone Ryouma would have remembered seeing around town. His hair curled outwards and he had large blue eyes. He didn’t fit in with the neighborhood, and was downright eccentric. What’s more, he seemed to be wearing Fuji’s clothing, which hung slightly loose off of his shoulders as he bent down to water some poppies.

Thinking quickly, Ryouma hid around a corner, watching the man move. He had lithe movements and got distracted by a butterfly that floated by. He was honestly...cat like.

Ryouma gasped. What if the cat Fuji had mentioned...was a boyfriend?! And it had been a cover up? Ryouma thought he was pretty open minded about that kind of thing, so having the truth hidden from him felt like a kick to the side. Newly emboldened by his conclusion on the matter, Ryouma came out from around the corner and walked up to the man.

“Hey,” he said when he came up behind him.

The man let out a shrill shriek, nearly dropping the watering can he held. He turned around, affronted, giving Ryouma a glare. “It’s rude to scare people like that!”

“Who are you?” Ryouma asked, narrowing his eyes. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

“I’m Eiji!” the man said cheerily. The way he spoke was slightly confusing to Ryouma, and it took him a moment to decipher it. “I live with Fuji. I usually stay upstairs, but today was so nice, and don’t you just want to go outside when it’s nice out~?” He stretched his arms upwards, letting out a happy little sigh in the process. 

“Fuji never told me you were living here,” Ryouma said. His theory was becoming more and more realistic - Fuji had a secret boyfriend he had...locked in his apartment? Maybe blood magic wasn’t so out of character. 

Eiji pouted, looking upset by the news. “Really? But… I’m really important to him!”

Ryouma almost felt a little bad. He reached out and pat Eiji on the shoulder. Eiji immediately leaned into it, a pleased expression on his face. Ryouma pulled back his hand quickly, not expecting such an affectionate response from someone he just met. Eiji’s face fell again when Ryouma’s hand left his shoulder. 

“Eiji!” Fuji’s voice came from an opened upstairs window. Ryouma and Eiji both looked up to see Fuji leaning halfway out of the window, glaring down at the other man. “I told you not to go outside!”

“But it’s so sunny out~,” Eiji whined, wiggling like a little kid. Ryouma wasn’t sure how to deal with this situation. “And I got to meet your apprentice! He’s so cute. I want to play with him!” 

Now Ryouma REALLY didn’t know what to do with this situation. Eiji grasped Ryouma’s arm and playfully pulled on it. “Then play inside!” Fuji sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Just come back upstairs before someone sees you that isn’t Ryouma!”

Eiji puffed out his cheeks before rolling his eyes, giving in. “Fineeee~,” he sighed. Right before Ryouma’s eyes, he leapt up onto the overhanging roof from the ground. An 8 foot jump. And slipped through the open window Fuji had just been talking to them out of. Ryouma rubbed at his eyes. An eight foot jump?!

He rushed inside and towards the stairs up to Fuji’s apartment. It felt kind of invasive - he still hadn’t gone up at all. He ascended the stairs and burst into Fuji’s apartment. Fuji was sat at the coffee table in front of his television, watching a daytime talk show on low volume as he pruned a cactus. (thats a thing right). On the other side of the table was Eiji, fingers gripping on the edge as he peeked over it at Fuji’s hands. He reached out and swatted at Fuji’s hand when it got too close, and Fuji sighed, turning to Ryouma.

“Can you play with him?”

“Who IS he?!” Ryouma exclaimed as Eiji bound over to him, cheerfully latching onto his arm again. He was much too close, his excited eyes boring into the side of his face.

Fuji looked over at them calmly, his lips flattened. “My cat.”

“What?!” Ryouma couldn’t believe what lies Fuji was telling him. “This is no cat!”

“Eiji’s a cat, nya~” Eiji provided helpfully. 

Fuji picked up a cat toy, a little rubber ball with a bell inside, from the floor and tossed it to the other side of the room. Eiji bounded after it, caught it on the first bounce and tumbled over in a roll that was almost acrobatic. His flexibility was scary. Ryouma looked from Eiji to Fuji and thought, okay, maybe either Eiji was a cat, or Fuji was harbouring an extremely damaged young man.

The ball skittered out of Eiji’s grasp and Ryouma caught it under his foot. When Eiji looked up at him, expectantly, he ducked to pick it up. Still feeling incredibly weird about the whole thing, he threw it, the bell tinkling as it rolled across the floor.

Eiji went after it again. This time, he  _ changed _ mid-pounce, his body moulding itself into another, significantly smaller form. The transformation was too fast for Ryouma to really see, and even if it hadn’t been, he wasn’t sure he could really comprehend it. In Eiji’s place was a small, fluffy cat, rolling back and forward on it’s back with the ball clutched to its chest.

“Why is he pink?” Ryouma asked, which felt like a stupid question, considering what he’d just witnessed, but it was the first thing that came to mind. The cat’s hair was a pale salmon colour. Almost… fleshy. Gross.

“Magic is… unpredictable,” Fuji said, moving to kneel down where Eiji rolled, rubbing his tummy affectionately. “An experiment gone wrong.”

The cat lover in Ryouma felt a little revolted at the idea of using a cat for experiments, but the side of him that was incredibly curious about magic wouldn’t let him leave. He moved over to sit on the floor next to Fuji, legs crossed, watching his mentor play with the cat. Finally, a little shyly, Ryoma picked up another toy that lay nearby - a rod with a bell and bunch of feathers on the end - and swished it around. Eiji pounced after it.

“Is he still,” Ryouma paused, “Uh… sentient?”

“I’m not sure,” Fuji said, shrugging. “He can’t talk in this form, but he seems to know what’s going on. But then, familiars are always more intelligent than your average animal. I’m sure your cat is, as well?”

Ryouma thought about it. Karupin didn’t do much other than eat, and sleep, and occasionally make an escape attempt. He’d been an outdoor cat before Ryouma had came to Japan, and he was still adjusting to apartment life. 

“I’m not really a witch, yet,” Ryouma muttered, finally. “Karupin’s not my familiar.”

“Everyone has the potential in them for magic,” Fuji said, “Not everyone wants to pursue it, though. You do. That makes you a witch already.”

Ryouma frowned. That was the most encouraging thing Fuji had said to him already, but it felt hollow, and Ryouma didn’t believe it. How could he call himself a witch when he hadn’t even learnt how to do a single spell, or brew a simple potion?

“How did you do it?” He asked, finally, and when Fuji raised an eyebrow, he said, “Eiji. How did you make it so he could… change?”

Ryouma had heard of transfiguration before, but never like this. He’d heard of it in very limited capacities - like changing one inanimate object into another, or altering your appearance a little. He’d never imagined that you could change a cat into a human. That would take some powerful magic. Not something just anybody would attempt.

“Was it blood magic?” He asked.

Fuji was good at hiding his expressions, but after a little more than a month with them, Ryouma was getting good at reading him. So when his lips turned downwards a little, the ghost of a frown, Ryouma said, “It was.”

He tried to remember everything he knew about blood magic. It had been banned over a hundred years ago, because it was dangerous. It offered magic users an incredible amount of power, providing they were willing to give a little self sacrifice. He’d read all sorts of horror stories about it - that it could be used to control people’s minds, or call upon deadly demons, or raise the dead. He wasn’t sure half of them were true, but still. It wasn’t the sort of thing you messed with.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Fuji said. He didn’t sound like he was asking. It was a command, rather than a request.

“I could,” Ryouma said, “I have connections with witch hunters. I could tell them.”

“You could,” Fuji said, lazily. Eiji had tired himself out with the toy Ryouma had been waving for him and come to curl in Fuji’s lap, and Fuji was stroking him absentmindedly as he said, “And I could use my magic to tear you apart from the inside out. There’s lots of things we  _ could  _ do.”

It was definitely a threat, but Ryouma wasn’t phased.

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” he said, leaning back, “Tezuka wouldn’t have recommended you to me if he thought you were dangerous.”

Fuji smiled - a genuine smile, not the one he usually wore - and Ryouma knew he’d called his bluff. A good thing, too, because he didn’t want to find out what Fuji was capable of first hand.

“What do you want, Echizen?” Fuji said.

“I want you to start taking me seriously,” Ryouma answered. “I want you to actually  _ teach  _ me something, instead of sending me on errands all the time. I want to learn.”

Fuji was quiet for a while, considering what he’d asked, then he finally said, “Okay.” He scooped a snoring Eiji out of his lap and placed him on the floor, brushing his pants down as he stood up. “I have a meeting every week with some witches and warlocks from the area. We discuss magic. You can come to that.”

Ryouma smiled. It wasn’t much (not what he’d wanted, really, which was a hands on experience with magic, getting to do it for himself), but it was something, and he was looking forward to it.


	7. Chapter 7

“What’s the difference between a witch and a warlock?” Ryouma asked. The day of the meeting had arrived, and Ryouma had stayed after work, invited upstairs by Fuji.

“Not a lot,” Fuji said. “Some people prefer one over the other. You’re from America - witch is more of a feminine word there, right?” Ryouma nodded. “It’s not really like that here. Most people just go by what they prefer. I like witch. It’s less of a mouthful than…”

Ryouma barely recognized the word warlock, mangled by Fuji’s pronunciation. Feeling a little smug, Ryouma said, “Less of a mouthful than  _ what _ ?” Then, smoothly, fluently, “Warlock?”

Fuji raised a hand to flick him on the side of his temple with his fingers.

He’d tidied up his apartment, making the small loft space look charming and presentable, and less like the messy home of a disorganized single male. Eiji was nowhere to be seen. When Ryouma asked after him, Fuji said, “He’s with my sister. He gets too excited when there’s lots of people around.”

“Would they know you changed him with blood magic?” Ryouma asked. Fuji didn’t answer, so he asked more questions, not taking the hint. “Kawamura knew you did it, and he’s not even a witch. Does Tezuka know you do it? Aren’t you supposed to keep that kind of thing a secret?”

“Tezuka… knows I can use blood magic,” Fuji said, throwing a table cloth over his table and smoothing it out.

“Isn’t it his job to make sure you  _ don’t _ ?”

“Maybe,” Fuji replied. “Kawamura doesn’t realize it’s taboo. Tezuka knows I wouldn’t use it for anything… sinister. And some other people know, too, but they’re not going to do anything about it.” He smiled, a little dangerously. “We’re a small community, and we all have our secrets. People know that if they were to tell the witch hunters about me, I could probably ruin  _ their  _ lives just as bad.”

Ryouma looked at him, trying to keep his expression blank. Witchcraft was… dangerous.

“Still want to be a witch?” Fuji teased.

* * *

 

They were expecting a handful of guests for their meeting. Fuji kept calling it that, like it was really important, but honestly, it was reminding Ryouma more and more of when he’d been young and his parents had had friends over. He’d set up little bowls of snacks and had put a bottle of wine in the centre of the table. Ryouma was busy washing wine glasses, which seemed dusty from disuse. 

“Not the kind to have company often?” He asked, a little snidely. 

Fuji didn’t look to him from across the room. Just continued fluffing cushions and tossing them back on his couch.

“We usually host it somewhere else.”

“Sure,” Ryouma said. He dried off the glasses, set them on the table. Six of them. The guests they were laid out for arrived shortly.

The first two were for him and Fuji, obviously, but he didn’t like to drink. Wasn’t old enough to, but that wasn’t the reason. Alcohol just tasted… gross. He’d rather have a cool, refreshing Ponta ™.

The first guest to arrive was an overeager looking man, about Fuji’s age, dressed in a shirt and dress pants, a blazer slung over his shoulder. Awkward, because Ryouma and Fuji were in the casual clothes they worked in. His entrance was made even more awkward when Fuji completely blanked on his name, leading him to let out an exasperated, “It’s Mizuki! Mizuki Hajime! We’ve known each other for eight years!” 

As he stalked away to take his seat, Ryouma said, voice low, “You didn’t really forget his name, did you?” and Fuji replied, sounding genuinely curious, “Whose?”

Atobe Keigo was the next to arrive. Ryouma didn’t know who he was at first, but he definitely recognized the name. The Atobes were one of the most powerful magical families in Japan, as well as the most fabulously wealthy. It was absurd how rich they were. They had far too many dollars.

He took his seat, primly, at the head of the table, and Fuji gave him a smile that would probably make a lesser man faint. Atobe asked where Tezuka was. Fuji replied that he wouldn’t be coming, and Atobe stopped preening himself quite as much, suddenly disinterested.

They sat around the table and made awkward small talk as they waited for the other guests to arrive. Fuji seemed to like messing with both Atobe and Mizuki, but he was especially good at baiting the latter. Ryouma guessed that after eight years, he’d had some practice.

He found out that Atobe was an elemental warlock, but despite the fact that he had the ability to control every element, he worked with water and ice exclusively.

“Which really makes you about a third as useful as you could be,” Fuji said. Atobe gave him a cool stare and poured another glass of wine. He had drank about half the bottle by himself at this point.

“ _ I’m  _ a potions master,” Mizuki cut in, clearly wanting to talk about himself. “My specialty is love potions. You can try one out sometime, if you-”

There was another knock on the door, and the final guest answered without waiting on Fuji to answer it. Mizuki seemed annoyed about being cut off mid-sentence, but Ryouma wasn’t paying much attention to him now. His eyes were on the two men who joined them. The one who came in first was beautiful. Ryouma hadn’t thought a dude could be that pretty, but apparently they could be, and here was living proof. The kid who followed him - probably closer to his age than Fuji’s - looked pretty lost. 

“Fuji,” he said with a smile, sitting down. “Thank you for hosting this month. It’s so nice of you, while our store is getting renovated.”

He spoke like Fuji, Ryouma thought. He sounded kind but there was something  _ fake  _ about him, how he carried himself, the way he spoke. 

“Yukimura,” Fuji said, mirroring his tone. “It’s my pleasure. I would have hated to go a month without this - you know how much I love your book club.”

“ _ Book club _ ,” Ryouma repeated, dully, his eyes narrowing. Yukimura turned to look at him for the first time, and he met his gaze, stubbornly. Yukimura seemed surprised - apparently, he wasn’t used to people acting this way around him.

“Yes,” he said, “We’ve been running it for a few years now. I didn’t know you’d be joining us.” He looked to Fuji. “Who is this? Your new boyfriend?”

Gross!!! The kid that had come with Yukimura peered over his shoulder, giving Ryouma a devilish smile. 

Fuji’s smile didn’t waver, but Ryouma knew better than to assume Fuji appreciated the jab. “Let’s not get hasty, Yukimura. He’s my new apprentice. His name is Ryouma.”

All the men in the room reeled at the news. Atobe and Mizuki hadn’t even bothered to ask, making their own presumptions, but they clearly hadn’t expected the bombshell of an  _ apprentice  _ to be dropped. 

Atobe, in particular, looked distraught by the news. He looked at Ryouma finally, his eyes judgemental and harsh as he sized him up. “This brat?” He said, obviously shocked. “Really?”

“I thought you were convincing that Momo kid to be your apprentice?” Mizuki sounded just as surprised. Ryouma snorted at the mention of Momoshiro becoming a witch - maybe when hell froze over.

Fuji’s smile was definitely fake now. Ryouma wondered why he invited these hooligans to this club or whatever if they were just going to passively aggressively smile at each other. “No. I had no plans to invite Momo to be my apprentice.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Ryouma.” Yukimura finally said. He reached outwards to give Ryouma a handshake, and Ryouma took it tentatively. The man’s fingers were long and thin, but his hold on Ryouma’s was powerful and confident. Ryouma was kind of dazzled by him. Yukimura turned to the side slightly, wrapping a gentle arm around the boy he himself had brought with him. “Introduce yourself too, Akaya.”

“Hey,” Kirihara said casually. “I’m Kirihara.”

“Ugh,” Atobe muttered from across the room. Mizuki hummed in quiet agreement. It seemed the other members already knew Kirihara from other times before, and weren’t particularly fond of him.

Fuji clapped his hands together excitedly. 

“Well, I think we’re about ready to begin,” he said, before looking from the bottle of wine to Ryouma, and then to Kirihara. They’d drank a decent amount of the bottle just waiting for Yukimura and Kirihara to show up, thought it had mostly been between Atobe and Mizuki. Atobe seemed unaffected. Mizuki was looking a little tipsy, his cheeks starting to flush.

“Why don’t you two go and get us some more wine?” Fuji said, pulling some money out of his pocket and pushing it across the table to Ryouma.

Ryouma considered protesting - he didn’t want to miss anything, and he considered saying that he wasn’t even  _ old  _ enough to buy alcohol, but he knew Fuji wouldn’t accept either of those excuses. Besides, he hardly ever got IDed in stores (he was always grateful that he’d finally had a growth spurt and then  _ kept  _ growing when he’d hit seventeen, and people had stopped assuming he was in middle school). 

Yukimura paused, and Ryouma thought for a moment he was going to say Kirihara couldn’t go, which was  _ fine  _ with him, but then he touched Kirihara’s shoulder and said, “I think that’s a good idea.” 

So he got up from the table, and Kirihara followed behind him, looking even sulkier than Ryouma felt about having to go run an errand.

They walked in silence to the convenience store a block or two away from Fuji’s store, one of the few in the neighbourhood that would be open this late in the evening. Ryouma didn’t really feel like making conversation, but curiosity got the better of him, and he finally asked, “Do you do magic?”

“No,” Kirihara muttered, “I just came with Yukimura.”

Ryouma thought about how Yukimura had called Kirihara Akaya, and the small touches he’d given him. 

“Are you dating him?” He asked.

Kirihara stopped suddenly. It was a little dark, but under the streetlight Ryouma could make out a blush colouring his cheeks.

“N-no!” He stammered, his embarrassment quickly concealed by a scowl. “Why would you even ask that? That’s stupid! I don’t- I just  _ work  _ for him!”

Ryouma moved to tug his cap down to cover the glint of a smirk in his eyes, then remembered Fuji had banned him from wearing his hat at work, and ran a hand through his hair instead. Kirihara still seemed flustered. 

“I was just asking,” he said, innocently. “What does Yukimura do, anyway?”

“What does he  _ do _ ?” Kirihara said, incredulously. They were walking again, at least, but Ryouma’s ignorance seemed to have taken him aback. Ryouma hoped he wouldn’t stop again. “You really are a foreigner, aren’t you?” The disdain in his voice was clear. “Listen up: Yukimura’s only the greatest nature witch in this country. He won a prize last year for like, innovation in magic.”

He sounded ridiculously proud, like he’d won it himself or something. Ryouma was actually listening, now, and he was more interested in Yukimura’s magic than the man himself.

“What was it for?” Ryouma asked, curiosity piqued.

“I just said. Innovation in mag-”

“I mean, was it a spell?” Ryouma said, slightly annoyed. “A potion? What?”

Kirihara went quiet. Finally he just said, “Does it matter? He  _ won _ . That’s why Yukimura’s the best witch that’s active right now. Better than your mentor any day of the week.”

Ryouma raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything else. Kirihara continued to ramble until they reached the store, apparently desperate to defend Yukimura’s honour even though Ryouma had let the subject go already.

“Yukimura’s magic is so…  _ pure _ ,” he said, eyes glimmering. “And beautiful, too. That’s why everyone likes him and his shop.” His nose wrinkled as he said, vindictively, “Nobody comes to Fuji’s store because everyone knows what he  _ is _ , you know. Yukimura told me. He’s a blood witch, and he’s not even that good at it. That’s disgusting.”

“Uh,” Ryouma said, “Okay.” He was glad that they’d reached the convenience store. “You wait outside.”

Ryouma didn’t need Kirihara causing a scene in the store because he’d accidentally breathed wrong and insulted Yukimura again. He bought the wine, spent the change on Ponta for himself, and headed back out the shop. Kirihara seemed to have cooled down, and they headed back to Fuji’s shop without another one-sided argument.

When they got back into the apartment, Mizuki was in the middle of a heated debate with Yukimura about the morality of love potions, though Mizuki was the only one who really seemed worked up. Mizuki was insisting that there was nothing wrong with them, and Yukimura was cutting in occasionally with comments that seemed like they were made just to rile Mizuki up. Ryouma wondered if they only invited him because he was fun to torment. Yukimura was a sadist, just like Fuji. 

“It doesn’t  _ matter  _ what you think of my work,” Mizuki finally snapped. “I’m just asking if you can grow some jasmine for me!”

Yukimura allowed Fuji to pour him another glass of wine, then said, “Maybe.”

“Let’s just talk about the book, already,” Atobe drawled, sounding bored.

Their meeting, Ryouma discovered, was an overglorified book club. They were talking about a spellbook, sure, but mostly all they did was gossip, and there was hardly any discussion of magic. Atobe kept trying to suggest what their next book should be, which seemed to be a novel about a torrid affair between warlock and witch hunter, and Fuji kept shooting him down.

Ryouma slumped down in his chair, wishing they’d talk about something  _ interesting _ . By the time the meeting was over, he was almost falling asleep, and only the scrape of chairs away from the table woke him from his daydream. Yukimura was giving him a cool smile.

“It was nice meeting you, Ryouma,” he said. Ryouma didn’t like how he called him by his first name, because he wasn’t sure if it was an attempt at friendliness or if Yukimura was just cocky enough to not care about normal social boundaries. Probably the second one. “I’m sure you’ll learn a lot from Fuji. You must be very excited.”

Ryouma snorted, and Fuji glared at him as Yukimura laughed. Fuji and Yukimura exchanged overly polite goodbyes, and then Fuji shut the door as the last of their guests left. Ryouma didn’t bother thinking about how most of them could probably hear him through the wall as he said, “Well, that was a huge waste of time.”

“I introduced you to two of the most powerful magic users in our part of Japan tonight,” Fuji said. “And Mizuki.”

Ryouma wasn’t impressed. He muttered something about how he hadn’t  _ learned  _ anything, and Fuji sighed, sitting down.

“I don’t know what you expect from me,” he said, looking to Ryouma. Maybe it was because he’d been drinking, but his face didn’t seem nearly as composed as it usually was. He looked obviously annoyed as he looked at his apprentice. “I’ve never  _ done  _ this before. I don’t know how to start. I’ve never taught anyone before.”

“It can’t be that hard,” Ryouma snapped. “How were you taught?”

Fuji gave a slight shrug, face blank. He poured the dregs of the wine from the bottle into his glass.

“Nobody really taught me,” he said, and Ryouma thought he must be bluffing. He’d never heard of a witch who hadn’t had an apprenticeship. Magic wasn’t something you just  _ knew _ . Fuji was good - Tezuka wouldn’t have recommended him to him if he wasn’t - but he couldn’t be that good.

“Don’t answer me if you don’t want to,” Ryouma said, “Just don’t try to bullshit me.”

Fuji didn’t speak, so Ryouma supposed he really didn’t want to answer him. 

“Why isn’t your father teaching you?”

Fuji caught him off guard with the question. It was the first time Fuji had really asked him about his dad, which was surprising, because Nanjiroh Echizen was a pretty big deal. Or had been, once - now he just lazed around all day, running a temple in their back yard… which was stupid, because nobody in America needed one, especially not in the rich little suburb his parents had settled down in. Ryouma thought Nanjiroh just did it as an excuse to not get a job, and his mom was successful enough to support his lazy NEET of a father, so he supposed it worked out okay for both of them.

“He tried to,” Ryouma answered, deciding to be honest. “When I was a kid. He wanted to train me to be the best warlock in America. Or he said that, but he never took it seriously, so eventually I just quit and stopped asking for lessons.”

“How sad,” Fuji said. It sounded a little patronizing, but Ryouma was too tired to fight. It had gotten pretty late, and he’d been in since early in the morning. He was sleepy. Fuji seemed to notice, too. “It’s late. You can stay over. Take the couch.”

Ryouma might have argued, but he was tired, and home was a train ride away. So he curled up on Fuji’s couch, letting himself fall asleep as Fuji cleared the table.


	8. Chapter 8

Fuji woke him the next morning by dropping Eiji onto him, letting the cat knead painfully into his ribs. Ryouma grumbled and rolled over, rubbing his side, and looked to his boss. Fuji looked chirpy even though, judging by how dark it was even with the blinds open, it was still early.

“Delivery for you, Ryouma.”

“I thought I’d get the day off,” Ryouma said, blinking away some sleepiness.

“We’re always open on a Saturday, aren’t we?” Fuji smiled. “At least you didn’t drink last night. Come on, get up.”

Fuji let him shower, which Ryouma appreciated. With only Fuji’s soap to use, though, he came out smelling a lot like Fuji, which was something he was not so into. Judging from the guest’s reactions at the party last night, he supposed he should get used to people thinking he and Fuji were an _item_ , but he didn’t need to add MORE fuel to that fire!!! He dried himself off and got dressed quickly, leaving the shop with an envelope marked RYUZAKI.

The address was written pretty clearly below that, but Ryouma was completely lost. He’d slowly been getting used to the town and how it was laid out, but there were still neighourhoods he wasn’t too familiar with. This was one of them, apparently; after thirty minutes of looking for the place, he finally stopped a girl his age, holding the envelope up and saying, “Where is this?”

She was dressed in a flowy summer dress, and her long hair fell over either shoulder in long braids. She looked startled to be asked a question by a stranger so suddenly, but she didn’t ever seem to get over the initial surprise. Ryouma guessed nervousness was just her natural state of being.

“Oh! It’s really easy,” she said, turning to face up the street. “If you take your next left, you’ll be there in no time! It’s just a ten minutes walk away.”

“Thanks,” Ryouma muttered, tucking the envelope back under his arm and heading off. He was already running late, so the sooner he got there, the better.

 

* * *

 

 

At first he’d thought the girl had just made a mistake with how far away the house was, but it seemed like her mistake was bigger than that, because, somehow, he found his way back to the shop. Fuji was watering the flowers on his windowsill, and looked up, an amused grin on his face.

“You’re meant to _give_ them the envelope, Ryouma,” he said, “Not just show them and come back with it.”

“Got lost,” Ryouma muttered. “And bad directions.”

“Obviously,” Fuji said, pulling a pen out of his pocket and gesturing for Ryouma to give him the envelope.

The map Fuji drew made things clearer. Apparently, the girl he’d asked had made the mistake of telling him to go left when he should have gone right, and Ryouma was in a foul mood by the time he stomped up the steps to the house, ringing the doorbell.

The neighbourhood was obviously pretty wealthy, with each house surrounded by a spacious yard and long driveways. It took a few moments for the homeowner to answer the door, and when she did, Ryouma wasn’t surprised. The woman was old.

She raised her eyebrows when she saw him, reaching out to pull his hat up, so it didn’t cover his eyes. Ryouma reached up to yank it back down, and said, “Uh, delivery for Ryuzaki?”

“Ryouma Echizen,” the woman said, her mouth twitching upwards in a smile. “Well, I never.”

Ryouma stared at her, curiosity quickly replacing annoyance. “Do I know you?”

“I doubt it,” she said, stepping aside and ushering him in. When he didn’t move, she grabbed him by the wrist that held out the envelope of photographs and tugged him in, closing the door behind him. “You were very young when I last saw you. Before your father left for America.”

Ryouma considered himself an American (as did most of the people he’d met here, despite his Japanese heritage), but he’d lived in Japan for the first few years of his life. Too early to remember this woman, as she’d said.

“You knew my father?”

“Knew him?” She said, laughing. “I taught him everything he knows.”

“Not very much, then,” Ryouma muttered. She laughed, and made her way into the living room. Ryouma, still holding the envelope, had to follow her. “I need to get your signature for this delivery.”

“Of course. Soon,” she said, sitting down on a chair and motioning for Ryouma to sit as well. Ryouma stayed standing, holding the clipboard he carried out obstinately, and when he didn’t move she brought her hand down in a sweeping motion. Ryouma felt his knees buckle under him, and he fell back onto the couch behind him.

“That’s better,” she smiled. “Fuji didn’t tell me he had someone new working for him.”

Ryouma’s legs ached slightly, and he didn’t trust himself to stand on them just now. Glaring at her, he said, “You know Fuji?” He hadn’t expected to be running a delivery to a witch, much less one who’d readily use her magic on another person, but he supposed anyone who had taught his father would probably share his reckless attitude, regardless of how much of a sweet old lady she looked.

“I know Fuji very well,” she said. “I taught him too.”

“Fuji said he was self-taught,” Ryouma said with a frown.

“Oh, in magic, yes,” Ryuzaki said, waving her hand. “I’m a tennis coach. I worked with him in middle school. Tezuka too- you know Tezuka, he’s mentioned you. Though we didn’t go far in the tournaments. Magic’s banned, but try telling that to them.”

She finally leant forward to take the envelope Ryouma was holding out, but ignored the clipboard, even when he jabbed it forward. She ripped the package open and smiled, taking out the photos.

“Oh, these turned out _wonderfully_ ,” she said, “Fuji is very talented. We hired him for my granddaughter’s wedding. Here, you have to look.”

She turned one of the photos towards Ryouma, who instantly recognized one of the brides. The front door slammed, before he felt obligated to give an awkward comment about how beautiful two complete strangers had looked on their wedding day.

“Grandma!”

The girl from before stepped into the living room, some bags of groceries in her arms. She almost dropped them when she saw Ryouma, but Ryuzaki sprang up quickly enough to catch them, and the girls hands flew to her mouth in surprise.

“Oh, it’s you!” She said. “You found the place alright?”

“After a forty minute detour,” Ryouma said. She blushed, and he said, “Whatever. I was just about to leave.”

“Oh, _fine_. I’ve kept you here long enough,” Ryuzaki said, waving her hand dismissively, and Ryouma felt the feeling come back to his legs slowly. He stood up, testing his weight on them, then held the clipboard out to Ryuzaki. She finally took it, signing her name carefully. As she handed it back, she asked, “Do you have an apprenticeship with Fuji, Ryouma?”

“Yeah.”

“How nice,” she said. “I was going to ask you to be mine, but I’m sure Fuji will teach you well.”

He glared at her, because after this, there was no way he’d _want_ to learn under her. She just laughed, and said, “You really do look like your father. It’s something about the eyes.” He tugged his hat down to cover them, and turned away as she said, “Sakuno, show him back to the shop.”

“Yes, grandma!” The girl chirped, practically running to catch up with him, because Ryouma was already out the door. “R-Ryouma-kun! Wait up!”

He didn’t look back, but he did slow his pace enough for her to catch up with him.

“I’m so sorry about before!” She said, her face flushed with exertion and embarrassment. “It really was a mistake! I’m terrible with directions.”

“Clearly,” Ryouma said dryly. When she flinched, he lightened his tone, said, “Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter that much.”

“Still,” she said, her short heels clickin as she walked beside him. “I feel bad. Will Fuji be mad at you?”

“He won’t let me forget about it for a few weeks, but he won’t care,” Ryouma said, and looked to Sakuno. “Are you a witch, like your grandma?”

Sakuno laughed nervously, glancing to the ground.

“Um, I guess,” she said. “I’m not very good, though.”

“Show me.”

Ryouma stopped, suddenly, and Sakuno took a few steps before she realized he had and turned around. She looked surprised.

“What? Here?”

“Why not?” Ryouma asked, and she frowned, her hands moving to toy with one of her braids nervously.

“Well, it’s just…” She trailed off, then steeled herself. “Okay.”

They were walking down an alleyway behind some houses, which Sakuno assured Ryouma was a shortcut and which Ryouma believed despite her clearly having issues with navigations. The back yards were hidden by six-feet-tall walls, up which climbed dark-leaved shrubs, the foliage dotted with wine-coloured flowers. Sakuno held up a hand, open palmed, and slowly curled her fingers inwards. The petals of the flowers closed inwards as she did so. When she opened her hand again, they reopened.

“That’s amazing,” Ryouma said.

She smiled, her pale cheeks reddening as she did so. “It’s really not. It’s very basic magic. I’m sure you’ll know much more, with your father being such an amazing warlock.” Ryouma snorted, shook his head, and she said, “Oh… sorry. But I’m sure Fuji will teach you a lot…!”

Ryouma laughed out loud this time, and said, “All Fuji’s done so far is give me a job running errands. I don’t know any magic yet.”

He started walking again, and Sakuno followed.

“I’m sure he’ll teach you soon. He’s probably waiting until he thinks you’re ready,” Sakuno said, and despite how reassuring she sounded, Ryouma wasn’t convinced. “I’m sure when he does teach you, you’ll learn a lot. Fuji is an incredible witch - I asked him for an apprenticeship too, but he said no. I didn’t think he took apprentices.”

Ryouma didn’t want to stay on the subject of Fuji. “Are you still looking for an apprenticeship?”

She nodded. “I really want to work with Yukimura, because I’m interested in plant magic, but he doesn’t even answer my letters. He must be so busy- he’s practically a celebrity, with how much attention he gets.”

If Yukimura had enough time to go to a stupid book club, he had enough time to write Sakuno back. The fact that he didn’t was pretty obnoxious.

“Write to him again,” Ryouma said, “Or just go to his shop. Ask him in person.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t!” Sakuno squeaked. They emerged from the alleyway on the same street Fuji’s shop was on - it really WAS a shortcut - and Sakuno turned to him, bowing, her braids swaying as she did so. “Anyway, I’d better be going-” she said, before looking up. “It was nice meeting you, Ryouma-kun!”

She turned away and started down the alley again, nearly tripping when Ryouma shouted, “Don’t get lost.”


	9. Chapter 9

Ryouma had begun to realize that Fuji got a lot of deliveries. Whenever Ryouma would come in the mornings, there would be milk on the doorstep, or a cardboard box tucked neatly by the stairs, or a letter just inside the door, passed through the mail slot. Had Ryouma been someone much sneakier, he would have pried open the packages and seen if they were vials of blood or a pig’s head or something equally as mystifying and frightening and fit for a blood witch. But he wasn’t. Instead, he became interested in the man who made almost nearly all the deliveries, since occasionally, they’d have the chance to cross paths. If you couldn’t open a person’s mail, you could interrogate the mailman about it, right?

The deliveryman seemed like a normal person, which with Ryouma’s reasoning, made him relatively boring. With the exception of, say, Tezuka, but even then he was a witch hunter and also boring in his own right. 

Ryouma was sat on the steps of the shop, waiting for Fuji to finish developing some photos of a little girl's birthday party. She had come with her parents to drop off the film, and she had been extremely excited about them. Her pure enthusiasm to see pictures of herself blowing out birthday cake candles made Ryouma antsy to go deliver them as soon as possible. As he was waiting, the deliveryman had come in his normal faded navy uniform, hat atop his head, head down as he read something on the clipboard he carried. He had a bag slung over his shoulder, and Ryouma wondered what Fuji could possibly be getting now.

The man seemed surprised to see Ryouma sitting there. He ducked his head shyly, removing his bag from his shoulder to rest it on the ground so he could find the package for Fuji. The uncomfortable silence was incredibly pressuring, and Ryouma wished that he would just  _ say  _ something. He was probably the first person in town who hadn’t asked his relation to Fuji, or who he was. It seemed like a pretty tight-knit town, so this man being quiet was abnormal.

“Are you the mailman?” Ryouma finally asked. His question seemingly startled the man, as his shoulders flinched upon being spoken to. 

“Yes,” he answered, looking up with a friendly smile. “I’ve been the mailman for the town for a couple years.”

“Are you a witch?” Ryouma was aloof about the question nowadays - despite the fact that Tezuka was a witch hunter, it appeared he came from a place absolutely overrun with them. His connection to Fuji must have been really strong.

The man laughed a little uncomfortably, removing a small box from his bag and then standing straight, pulling his bag back to his shoulder. “No, no. I could never do that. I did try to get into medicinal magic before, though.”

“Sounds boring,” Ryouma said flatly. His attempt at conversation had failed.

The man looked as uncomfortable as he sounded. He still hadn’t asked who Ryouma was, and hadn’t introduced himself either. Ryouma had always been told he was intimidating, but he’d never given it much thought until conversations like this came along. 

“Are you...are you Fuji’s new employee?” The man asked finally, looking unsure whether to give Ryouma the package he held or not. “Would you mind taking this package to him?”

“Yes,” he replied. “To both.”

“Ah, good,” the man said, relieved. He handed the package to Ryouma, and Ryouma found himself surprised that it was so light - it honestly felt like an empty box. He wasn’t sure what he expected considering he hadn’t asked Fuji about the contents of the boxes, but. “Make sure Fuji gets it soon, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ryouma said, a little lost on what to say to the mailman. With a final nod, the man left, looking back at the clipboard he was looking at earlier. 

As soon as he left, Eiji appeared out of seemingly goddamn nowhere, but in reality, he had just leapt off the roof and landed next to Ryouma on all fours. Just like a cat is expected to. But he was in human form, so it just was bizarre. It took all of Ryouma’s willpower not to jump out of fright.

Eiji looked after the mailman with a saddened expression, his bottom lip pouted outwards. “Oishi is such a hard worker, nya.”

“Is that his name?” Ryouma said. He still wasn’t entirely sure how to speak to Eiji - he was, after all, a cat most of the time. Did he speak to him the way he spoke to Karupin, or the way he spoke to Fuji? He wasn’t really sure. 

“Yes!” Eiji rubbed up against Ryouma happily until Ryouma reluctantly pat him on his head. “He always comes by! I watch him from the window, but he never sees me even when I meow my loudest!” Eiji scowled. “I want to meet him!”

Ryouma wasn’t really sure what to say - Fuji didn’t want Eiji out and about, so to say, because of, well, everything about Eiji. But Ryouma supposed the human part of Eiji wanted more interaction with other people other than Fuji. Ryouma couldn’t even imagine what only being able to converse with Fuji would do to a person. 

“I could...uh…” Ryouma tried to think of how he could either help or get out of this situation somehow. “Go...ask him to come back?”

Eiji’s face lit up before Ryouma could even finish his suggestion. “Could you?! Would you!! I want to meet him at least once!”

Ryouma knew that Fuji would be at least another thirty minutes, developing the photos, so he thought, why the hell not. He’d do Eiji a favor. That was the cat lover in him coming out. He rest the package down on the step and stood, stretching before breaking into a light jog to catch up to Oishi, who luckily hadn’t gone very far. He was just two blocks away, writing something onto a slip he attached to a box. He seemed surprised when Ryouma came to a stop beside him. Ryouma was in pretty good shape, but he still felt a little winded due to the weather - the heat of the summer felt hotter in Japan than it had in America, somehow. 

“Did something go wrong with Fuji’s package?” Oishi asked, genuine worry in his words. 

He had to think of a way to make the suggestion to go back to Fuji’s house seem casual and not weird, but before he could even think of anything, he was tackled from the back by Eiji, who had apparently followed him. “Oishi!” Eiji said, excitement bubbling in his voice.

“Eiji! You’re not supposed to leave the house!” Ryouma hissed as Eiji released him, instead deciding to stand beside him, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

“I was so excited I couldn’t wait!”

“You only waited for like, ten seconds!”

Oishi cleared his throat, looking awkwardly at them. “Can I do something for you? Do I...know you?” He directed the question at Eiji, who gave him a coy smile.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you for months!” He said. Oishi looked embarrassed, eyes flickering to Ryouma. Ryouma felt just as embarrassed, tbh. “I watch you from the window, and just think about how cool you look in your uniform, delivering things! Getting to walk around all over the place!” Eiji’s reasoning was very simple-minded, but it seemed to get to Oishi, who was blushing slightly. “It’s really exciting, right? Seeing all sorts of people all day!”

“I…” Oishi cleared his throat again, looking flustered. Ryouma felt like a third wheel. “I guess it is? Um, can I ask who you are?”

“I’m Eiji!” The redhead reached forward and grasped Oishi’s hand with both of his own, and in an act of truly embarrassing “he’s not a human even if he looks like one” display, brought Oishi’s hand up to his face and rubbed his nose against it. Ryouma was so horrified that he couldn’t do anything but stare with his mouth open, and apparently, neither could Oishi. Eiji continued to nuzzle the other man’s hand for a few excruciating moments before Oishi began to babble nonsensically, his face as red as a tomato. 

“Eiji, stop that,” Ryouma finally managed to squawk, taking hold of Oishi’s wrist and yanking it away from his friendly nuzzles. Eiji looked at him disappointingly. Ryouma turned to Oishi, who was staring at Eiji with wide eyes, his mouth in a confused, distorted line. “I’m really sorry about that. I had no idea he was going to do that.”

“I just wanted to show him how excited I was to finally meet him!” Eiji whined, wiggling impatiently, like Ryouma didn’t get it. Oh, he got it. He got that Eiji was clearly just a cat in a man’s body, that’s for sure.

Ryouma offered Oishi an apologetic smile, nodding his head. He was mortified - anyone would be totally horrified to have a stranger rub his face all over their hands. Oishi’s eyes finally tore away from Eiji and he looked at Ryouma again. “Really. Sorry. We’re going now. Bye.”

Ryouma turned away, grabbing Eiji by the wrist and dragging him away, garnering a sound of protest from Eiji. Ryouma hoped he never had to see that mailman again, because, God. How embarrassing.

“Hey! U-um…” Just as they were about to round the corner, Oishi’s voice rang out. Ryouma turned to look back, seeing Oishi standing there with his hands fidgeting together, his face down. He finally looked up, face still red as he looked at Eiji. “Your name was Eiji?”

Eiji perked up again, and Ryouma tightened his hold on his wrist just to make sure nothing happened, like Eiji rubbing up against Oishi’s legs or something. “Yes!”

“It...it was nice meeting you!” Oishi finally said, bowing deeply before scrambling off, nearly dropping his satchel and clipboard in the process. Ryouma caught a glimpse of the hidden smile on Oishi’s face from a distance before he turned a corner, out of sight. Oh.  _ Well _ . Eiji bounced excitedly, waving after him with as much gusto as he could muster. Ryouma stared after him, not sure if he was impressed that Eiji’s weird technique of courting someone had worked, or if he was feeling pity that Oishi had just fallen in love with Fuji’s  _ cat.  _

“Let’s go back before Fuji notices that you’ve left,” Ryouma finally decided on feeling pity for the poor guy. “Or else we’ll both be in trouble.” Ryouma wasn’t sure if he was willing to risk being in danger of Fuji’s wrath, not with the whole blood magic thing going on.

“Hoi hoi~!”


	10. Chapter 10

Fuji was visiting his parents the next weekend, which meant Ryouma technically had a few days off, but he had been given the task of going to the shop anyway, to check on Eiji and pick up any mail.

Personally, Ryouma didn’t think Eiji needed much babysitting. He was overly excitable and far too invested in their mailman, sure, but cats were pretty independent. Especially cats that could turn into people. He could remember to feed himself. Probably.

When Ryouma arrived at the shop, he found a parcel already signed for, lying neatly on the little workbench sat at to fix customer’s cameras at. The signature was a scrawl and a doodled fish. Stepping further into the dimly lit shop, Ryouma called out, “Eiji?”

Eiji leapt onto his back, arms wrapped around his neck, and Ryouma felt the breath knocked out of him.

“Hoi hoi, Echizen~” Eiji sang, sounding cheerful even by his standards. Because he’d gotten to see Oishi again, Ryouma guessed.

“Eiji,” Ryouma said, once he’d gotten his breath back, shrugging him off. “Did you answer the door?”

He didn’t really have to ask, but Eiji still looked coy when he turned around to see him, and didn’t answer it. Ryouma’s eyebrows raised when he saw what Eiji was wearing, and he tugged the hat he was wearing over his eyebrows. “Did you answer the door like _that_?”

Eiji had borrowed one of Fuji’s shirts again. It looked like Fuji must have borrowed it from someone else at one point, too, because it was too big for both of them, hanging a little down Eiji’s thighs. It looked…….. erotic. Ryouma hoped that Eiji knew how to put on underwear, because otherwise, this was _scandalous_.

“Maybe,” Eiji said, slyly, stretching. His shirt rode up a little, and Ryouma reminded himself not to look down. Then, apparently getting bored of holding back, he said, “Oishi is so nice, nya! He asked if I was Fuji’s roommate, and I said, kind of. And then he asked if I wanted to go out on his day off tomorrow, so I said yes. He’s going to take me to a movie, because I said I’d never been to one. And then-”

“Wait,” Ryouma said, shaking his head. “Stop, stop. Eiji, you can’t go out tomorrow.”

Eiji pouted. “Why not?”

The answer was pretty simple to Ryouma (“because Fuji would kill me”), but explaining that to Eiji was a little less straightforward. Eiji huffed and sat down on one of the stools, glowering at Ryouma. He felt bad, really - because he saw how frustrated Karupin could get, sometimes, and he understood.

In America, Karupin had had a big yard to wander around, but now he was stuck in a tiny apartment all the time and it probably drove him crazy. Eiji probably felt the same, but with the added disadvantage of being human enough to crave human company. No wonder he was so clingy with the few people who were even aware of his existence.

Ryouma was a big sucker when it came to cats. So he said, “Alright, you can go.” Eiji’s expression brightened immediately, but then it fell when Ryouma added, quickly, “But I have to come with you.”

“Hmmm… but Echizen,” Eiji drawled, staring at him, “That might be awkward, for you to come on Oishi’s and my’s date.”

Ryouma blanched.

“Eiji, it’s- I mean, I don’t think Oishi meant- I don’t think it’s a _date_ ,” he stammered, tripping over his words. Weren’t cats supposed to be innocent? Karupin would NEVER!

Eiji just fixed him with a long look, and Ryouma realized that okay, Oishi probably had meant it like that when he’d asked Eiji to come out. The mailman had clearly been smitten the last time they’d met, and now he’d been _seduced_ by Eiji’s thighs. This poor dude. Ryouma didn’t know how Eiji did it. Maybe crazy magical cat pheromones, or something.

“Alright,” Ryouma said, hesitantly. “You can go. But I really need to come with you.”

Eiji seemed happy with the compromise, but his smile faltered again when he said, “But Echizen, what will I _wear_?!”

“What’s wrong with your normal clothes?”

“These are _Fuji’s_ clothes!” Eiji said, and he sounded exasperated. Ryouma could kind of see his point - Eiji could get Fuji’s clothes on, but they didn’t fit well, and besides that, Fuji’s stylish mom fashion didn’t _suit_ Eiji.

“Fine,” he said, sighing. It was difficult to turn Eiji down, when he knew saying no would just result in him not letting it go until he got what he wanted. “Put some pants on and let’s go.”

It only occurred to him once they were at the store that Eiji didn’t have money, on account of, you know, being a cat and all. Fuji paid Ryouma well enough, but not enough that he didn’t feel a sense of dread as he paid for the outfit that Eiji had picked out. It was ugly and had about three different prints and patterns that clashed, but it seemed to suit Eiji’s personality. The other looked so happy at their purchase that Ryouma felt a little less guilty about spending half of his food budget on it.

When they arrived back at Fuji’s house, Ryouma went to the kitchen to open a tin of cat food. When he came back to the living room, he was pleased to see Eiji curled up, in cat form, on top of a pile of clean laundry. It would have been pretty gross for a human ass human to eat cat food, after all. Placing the bowl down, he made his way out, locking the door as he left. 

* * *

 

Ryouma had no idea when Oishi was going to pick Eiji up that morning, and he didn’t trust Eiji to answer him properly. Because even if Eiji, being a cat and all, had a proper concept of time and could remember when Oishi said he was coming over, he could probably have just lied, so Ryouma came over too late and he was on his date with Oishi, chaperone-less. The thought horrified Ryouma. Eiji could not be TRUSTED.

When he arrived at Fuji’s house, Eiji was already dressed.

“Will Oishi be here soon?” He asked, looking to the other with a bemused look. It was still early.

“I don’t know!” Eiji said, practically singing the words. “I was just excited!”

Ryouma raised an eyebrow, but didn’t hang around. Even with Fuji gone and the shop closed to customers, there was work he could do to pass the time. He was sorting prints into envelopes, addressing them carefully, when the doorbell rang, and he jumped up from the desk. He practically ran to the door, but even as he skidded to a stop in front of it, Eiji bounded past him, throwing it open. Oishi stood there, smiling awkwardly, a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

“Oh,” he said, “I really like your outfit, Eiji.”

Ryouma looked from Oishi, who was dressed casually but fashionably, to Eiji, who looked as though he’d picked his clothes out in the dark.

“Oishi~” Eiji trilled, reaching out with open hands, “Thanks, I picked it myself. Are those for me?”

Oishi blushed, almost as red as the roses he held, and stammered, “Y-yes.”

“Yay!” Eiji shouted, grabbing them from his hands.

Ryouma finally managed to muscle past Eiji, to stand between him and the mailman, and said, “That’s nice.” He glanced to Oishi, who seemed to shrink under his gaze. Ryouma had been told he had a pretty intense glare before, and he was thankful for it now, in a way, thought he couldn’t help but feel a _little_ bad about it. “You’ll have to put them in some water, Eiji.”

“Water?! Gross,” Eiji said, shoving the flowers back to Ryouma. “You do it, Echizen.”

Ryouma was hesitant, but finally he said, “Alright, wait here,” and made his way to the kitchen. Fuji kept a vase of dried flowers on the windowsill. Ryouma had never been sure if Fuji kept them there on purpose or if he was just too lazy to get rid of the flowers after they’d died, but he set them carefully on the counter and filled the vase with water, placing the bouquet into it. He had no idea how he would explain the sudden appearance of a dozen red roses to Fuji, but that was a problem for another time.

He heard the front door slam and looked up to see Eiji and Oishi making their way past the window. Annoyed, Ryouma snatched his cap from the table as he made his way out of the shop, tugging it on as he broke into a run. He was pretty annoyed that he’d had to chase after a strange man twice in the past week, and even more annoyed to find himself slightly out of breath when he caught up to them, glowering at Eiji, who clung onto Oishi’s arm and buried his face in his shoulder.

“Eiji,” Ryouma seethed, “Why did you _leave_?”

Eiji mumbled something into Oishi’s chest. The mailman blushed, and said, “Sorry- we left without saying goodbye, but…”

“I told him to wait,” Ryouma snapped, straightening his cap, “Because I’m coming with you.”

Oishi’s face whitened. “What?”

“Yeah,” Ryouma said. “I haven’t been to the movies in forever. It’s okay, right? I mean, it’s not like you guys are on a _date_ or anything.”

Oishi looked positively ashen by this point. But, as Ryouma had expected, he didn’t put up much of a fight- so Ryouma trailed along beside them, Eiji still clinging to Oishi and shooting him glares now and again, Oishi staring straight ahead and trying not to make eye contact with the sullen chaperone they’d suddenly acquired.

* * *

 

At the movie theatre, Ryouma waited for Oishi to sit before muscling his way past Eiji, sitting down between them. Eiji gave him a long, hard look, and for a horrifying moment Ryouma thought he was contemplating sitting in his _knee_ , but finally he just slumped into the chair beside him.

They’d arrived early- early enough that they were sitting in the theatre, lights up, before the ads and previews came on- and Oishi tried to make awkward conversation as they sat there, leaning forward so he could look around Ryouma. Eiji sat with his knees drawn up and his feet on the chair, leaning on Ryouma’s shoulder as he listened to the other.

“So, Eiji,” Oishi said, clearing his throat, “You, uh, live with Fuji, right? It must be interesting, living above a camera shop.”

“Camera,” Eiji repeated, in the same way Ryouma repeated Japanese words he hadn’t heard before, slowly and carefully. Then he seemed to understand, and he grinned brightly as he said, “Oh! The click-click machine?”

Oishi was quiet, until Eiji mimed using a camera, and he smiled, and said, “Y-yes. That.”

Oh my gawd, thought Ryouma.

The lights went down so they could roll previews for movies that would be coming out soon. Oishi’s hand rested on the armrest between him and Ryouma. Eiji reached over to grab it, and Ryouma barely managed to grab his cup of Ponta before it was knocked over. Eiji and Oishi held hands over his lap, which was really awkward, to be honest. You can’t understand the true meaning of uncomfortable until a cat man and a mailman tenderly hold hands mere inches away from your crotch.

Eiji kept trying to talk, excitedly, while the movie started. An usher swung his flashlight down their row and shushed them, which Ryouma thought was a bit unnecessary. It was an early showing, and there was barely anyone there. Eiji pouted, waited until he was gone, then started talking again, though thankfully a little quieter.

It was a little into the movie when Ryouma noticed Eiji starting to act a little strange. His hand had fallen out of Oishi’s, and he was quieter, and he curled against Ryouma’s shoulder, his cheek resting on it and his eyes slipping closed. He looked drowsy. When the screen lit up, Ryouma glanced to his right in time to see Oishi staring at them, a cross between concern and jealous on his face.

“Is he alright?” Oishi began, just as Eiji transformed from sleepy man to sleepy cat, landing in Ryouma’s lap.

Oishi let out a yelp, covering his mouth too late to muffle the sound of surprise. The usher came stomping down the aisle again, and Ryouma tugged his hat down over his eyes as the bright light nearly blinded him.

“Sirs,” the usher said, his voice tight, “Our establishment has a strict no pets policy.”

“You don’t understand,” Oishi said, “This is my date.”

“Well, never in all my days have I-” The usher began, but Ryouma stood up, clutching Eiji to his chest, and nudged Oishi’s knees as he wriggled past him, escaping from the aisle in the opposite direction. Eiji purred against his chest. This was the worst idea Ryouma had ever agreed to, he thought, as he fled the theatre.

* * *

 

Oishi caught up to them halfway down the street from the theatre, holding Ryouma’s jacket and his half full cup of soda. Which was noble, Ryouma thought, because if his date had turned into a cat in the middle of a movie, he would have cheesed it, toot sweet. Or, well, he’d probably have hung around to pet him, or something, but either way that would probably be the end of their date. Oishi was clearly a better man than him.

“Echizen,” Oishi said, panting a little as he finally caught up to them. “What… what.”

Ryouma wasn’t exactly sure where to start.

“He’s Fuji’s cat,” he said. “Sorry. I should have told you.”

“You should have,” Oishi mumbled, dragging a hand down his face, which was bright red. “I didn’t- I’m so embarrassed. This is humiliating.”

For the first time, Ryouma felt more _guilty_ about this whole situation than anything else.

“Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t really thinking. He really wanted to go to the movies with you today, and I felt bad. He stays in that house with Fuji all day long.”

“So he’s an indoor cat,” Oishi said, his voice devoid of any humour.

“I guess,” Ryouma shrugged. “I don’t think he’s really as dumb as he seems. And he really likes you. So- I mean, don’t feel too bad.”

Oishi still seemed embarrassed, but he held out his hands. “Come on. I should carry him back. I kind of caused this whole mess, anyway.”

Ryouma was happy to pass off Eiji, because he was not a fan of the stares that carrying a cat down a busy street in the middle of the day attracted. As they walked, they talked a little bit more, and finally, Oishi admitted, “I really should have known. Nobody who lives with Fuji could be _completely_ normal.” Then, looking alarmed, he said, “N-no offense!”

It took Ryouma a moment to realise what he was meant to be offended about.

“I don’t live with Fuji,” he said, “I work for him.”

“Oh,” Oishi blushed, yet again. “I assumed you and him were…”

“ _No_ ,” Ryouma said. He had no idea why people kept making that mistake. He was honestly more offended about that accusation than the one that he was weird for hanging around Fuji because, honestly, he kind of was. No normal person would put up with Fuji’s teasing and frustrating refusal to teach for that long.

“Sorry,” Oishi said. “It’s just… I’ve been a mailman here for a few years, and I get to know the people I deliver to- small town, you know?- and Fuji’s never seemed that… _close_ to anyone. Well, except for Tezuka.” Ryouma nodded. Oishi’s attention turned back to the cat in his arms, still sleeping, and said, “Is he okay? He’s been knocked out this entire time.”

That had been worrying Ryouma a little, too, but as long as Eiji was breathing, he wasn’t too concerned. All they had to do was get him back to the house to sleep it off.

“Fuji will be back tomorrow morning,” he said, “If something’s really wrong, he can deal with it.”

“What if it’s something serious?” Oishi said, sounding panicked. “I can’t afford a vet.”

Ryouma gave him a look that said _don’t worry about it_ , and that ended the conversation. When they arrived back at the shop, he tried his key in the door and found it already unlocked. Shit. The last thing he needed was to have left the door open. He could hide the fact that he’d played matchmaker for Fuji’s cat; it would be considerably harder to cover up the fact that his TV had been stolen.

When Ryouma pushed the door open, though, he was confronted with a worse reality than burglary. Fuji was sitting at the counter, taking a vintage camera apart with tiny, delicate tools. He looked up, his gaze icy.

“Ryouma,” he said, his voice sickly sweet. He looked to Oishi, who seemed to shrink under his gaze. “And Oishi. What a surprise. Coming back to an empty house was not what I expected. What’s the point of owning a cat if it’s not there to greet you when you come home?”

Busted. Fuji had not been due home until tomorrow.

“It was my fault,” Oishi blurted out, sounding positively terrified. “Echizen just went along with it. Don’t blame him.”

Fuji’s gaze softened, and his smile got a little more genuine. A little. Ryouma was sure that it was still like 90% fake.

“I can’t blame anyone but myself for letting Eiji be so pretty as a human, really,” he said, standing up and making his way to Oishi, who gave the cat up almost immediately. Fuji cradled him (Eiji, not Oishi) like a baby, which would have been cute if Fuji was not a borderline malevolent blood witch. “He’s very tired. Has he been maintaining his human form a lot this weekend?”

“Kind of,” Ryouma admitted sheepishly. “Will he be alright?”

“He just needs to rest,” Fuji said, before looking to Oishi. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about this.”

“Of course I won’t!”

“I appreciate that,” Fuji said, and that seemed to signal that the conversation was over, and Oishi nodded, backing out of the door. He hit his shoulder off it as he turned to exit quicker when Fuji called after him, “Don’t forget to call him.” Ryouma made to follow after Oishi, wanting to escape unscolded, when Fuji said, “Stay here, Ryouma.”

He stopped, turned to look at the other. Fuji didn’t look angry anymore, which he supposed was good.

“I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow,” Ryouma said.

“I meant to stay another day,” Fuji said. He moved to sit on his stool, Eiji curled up on his lap. “My parents were being insufferable, though. They want me to go to a coven meeting to represent the family, and those things are so _boring_.”

The idea might have bored Fuji, but Ryouma’s interest was piqued.

“Don’t look so excited,” Fuji smiled. “They really _are_ boring. Do you want my invitation?”

The offer caught Ryouma off guard. He said, “I thought you would fire me or something.”

“Mistakes happen. Oishi won’t tell anyone, so as long as nobody else knows, it’s fine,” Fuji said.

“Is it really okay?” Ryouma said. “Wouldn’t your brother rather go? Or your sister?”

“They hate these things as much as I do,” Fuji said. “It’s in a month. It’ll be an excellent opportunity for you to learn how witches from all over the country work differently.”

Ryouma was excited, but he couldn’t help but think he’d be a bit out of place if Fuji _still_ hadn’t taught him any magic by then. Which was likely.


	11. Chapter 11

“I have a non-delivery type of job for you today, Ryouma.”

Ryouma looked at Fuji suspiciously. Fuji was carding through a pile of papers - pertaining to the business finances, if the calculator and pad of notepaper beside them was any indication - and didn’t even give Ryouma much of a second glance when he had entered.

“That’s not my job description,” Ryouma said. Fuji shot him a look that said “shut up and do what I tell you”. Ryouma wasn’t feeling very disobedient today, so he grunted, leaning up against the counter. “Okay, fine. What is it?”

“It’s my brother.” Fuji’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, an expression of pain crossing his features. “He...well. You remember Mizuki, don’t you?”

Of course he remembered Mizuki. He remembered Fuji epically TROLLING Mizuki for an entire night.

“He was the potionmaster, right?” Ryouma asked for clarification anyway, wondering if Fuji would keep up the charade of not knowing Mizuki when he wasn’t around.

Fuji confirmed Ryouma’s suspicions - that it was done solely to provoke Mizuki. “Mhm. He and my brother...well, they’re neighbors, unfortunately. And Mizuki has an interest in testing potions on him.”

“Is your brother a witch too?” Ryouma asked. This was the first time he had heard Fuji mention a brother, though Tezuka had mentioned the fabled brother in passing before, noting Fuji’s devotion to him. Ryouma hadn’t wanted to ask.

“He is,” Fuji confirmed. “A very classical one. He tried to…” There was a pause, another look of frustration passing over his face. “He tried to learn blood magic before, to surpass me, but I think he grew out of it.” There was more to the story that Fuji wasn’t telling, but Ryouma wasn’t sure it was his place to pry, given the expression on Fuji’s face. He had never seen it before. The uneasy atmosphere quickly lifted as Fuji smiled again, even if it was just a mask. “But yes, he’s good at physical magic. Teleportation, transmutation...etcetera.” 

Ryouma thought that was pretty cool, actually. “So Mizuki uses him as a test subject?”

“Yes,” Fuji said through a sharp exhale. “And last night, Yuuta called me in a completely incoherent state, babbling about Mizuki’s new tea. I know he’s trying something on him, and I’d prefer it if he kept his hands off of my brother.” Fuji was clearly upset by this whole ordeal. Ryouma had a brother, as well, but didn’t feel nearly as much connection with him as Fuji seemed to with his own. Maybe it’s because Ryouma was the younger brother. Or maybe it was because Ryouma’s brother was a weirdo.

Either way, Ryouma shrugged. “If there are no deliveries today, then sure. I’ll go over and ask him to stop.”

“Thank you,” Fuji said, sounding genuinely grateful. He sighed in relief, slumping down against the counter for a moment, hands carding through his hair. “I’ll get you his address.”

 

* * *

 

Yuuta Fuji lived in an apartment block, similar to where Ryouma lived with Momoshiro but infinitely fancier. As he ascended on the steps, he took note of the ferns growing in the nicely kept pots at each landing. He bitterly thought about how lucky Yuuta was, living in such a nice place, but then remembered that he was also essentially being drugged by a witch obsessed with love potions and his brother was a blood witch, so perhaps his life wasn’t all that great after all.  
Still, the doors of each apartment were painted a nice baby blue and even the fence was light wood, so he still felt some slight resentment.

Yuuta supposedly lived in apartment 504 - which meant that Mizuki lived in 505. Ryouma looked upon the number plate with a growing feeling of nervousness - he had only met Mizuki once, after all. Plus, his relationship with Fuji seemed extremely rocky at best, so what if Mizuki kidnapped him as revenge? Or something equally as sinister? Though he could, realistically, fight off the man (he was extremely scrawny, as that suit he had worn to the book club was hanging off of him loosely), he’d rather not tussle with a witch yet.

He raised his hand and rapped the knocker of the door, which, he noted jealously, was gold, or at least painted that way. Damn rich witches.

After a minute or so, the door swung open to reveal Mizuki Hajime in a button down shirt and finely ironed pants, complete with the crease down the front. He looked considerably well put together considering he was probably just sitting around the house.

“Oh,” he said, giving Ryouma a faint scowl. “Fuji’s apprentice? What do you want?”

“Here on a job,” Ryouma replied vaguely. Mizuki’s scowl deepened. “Can I come in?”

Mizuki stepped aside hesitantly, and Ryouma entered. The apartment smelled like potpourri and was dimly lit, with the only natural light coming from beneath the blinds that were drawn nearly all the way closed. There were bookcases lining the walls, filled with leather bound books and knick knacks that Mizuki had likely amassed over the years. Ryouma helped himself to a seat on one of the chairs in the living room, kickin’ back. Mizuki was staring at him suspiciously, curling his hair around his finger anxiously.

“So Fuji sent you?” Mizuki finally said, sounding slightly hopeful. He cautiously took a seat across from Ryouma, linking his fingers together. “Are you sure you didn’t come here...to become my apprentice instead?!” Mizuki looked overly pleased with himself.

Ryouma said, “No.” Mizuki’s face fell.

“Then why are you here?”

Ryouma got straight to the point, since Mizuki seemed like the type of guy who could small talk for hours, and Ryouma didn’t really look forward to that. “Fuji wants you to stop spiking his brothers’ drinks with potions.”

The potion master looked affronted, a hand going to his chest in offense. “Me? Test potions on Yuuta? Without his consent?”

“Yeah,” Ryouma said, not buying into Mizuki’s innocent act.

Mizuki huffed, giving Ryouma a glare. Ryouma took it as an act of guilt, and simply raised his eyebrows at him. They stayed like that for a few moments until Mizuki’s expression cracked and he turned away, scowling. He rose from his seat, pacing in a short line, back and forth. “It’s not even dangerous! That Fuji...so meddlesome. I don’t make dangerous potions.”

“I don’t think he cares,” Ryouma offered. Mizuki snorted, as if he already knew that.

The other man stopped in his path, looking as if though a brilliant idea had come to him. “How about I give you the potion, and Fuji can test it for himself?”

“Like...drink it?”

“No, he can distill it and investigate it for himself, since he seems so interested in what I’m doing here.” Mizuki pursed his lips. “I don’t like revealing my recipes to anyone, but I will for this. Will you deliver it to him for me?”

Ryouma wasn’t so sure about this. Fuji had explicitly told him to make sure Mizuki stopped his zany experimentations on his brother, and Mizuki had flipped it around on him. “Well, I guess I will, but he-”

“Great, let me go grab it for you.” Mizuki shuffled out of their and into a back room. There was the sound of banging and ceramic hitting ceramic. Ryouma lifted the hat off of his head and ran his other hand through his hair briefly. Mizuki may have been a little bit of an oddball, but he sure was good at talking fast enough to get himself out of awkward situations. Mizuki returned in record time, his hair a little more dishevelled than before and a thick glass bottle in his hand. It vaguely resembled a vintage coca cola bottle, complete with the odd brown liquid inside. It seemed like a perfect way to trick people into drinking it. Mizuki handed it to him by the neck of the bottle, looking down at him with a forced elegance. “Here you are.”

“Uh, thanks,” Ryouma said, taking it from him. The only thing that set it apart from a regular soda bottle was that there was a cork in the top rather than a bottle cap.

Before he could ask Mizuki about the whole “stopping experimenting on Fuji’s brother” thing again, Mizuki was already hustling him out of his apartment, a wide, fake smile on his face. “It sure was nice to have Fuji’s little apprentice over! Make sure you tell him that my door is always open for him!” There was a pause, and he muttered, “and it has been all the other hundred times I’ve invited him.” Ryouma barely had time to turn back around to say goodbye before Mizuki was waving at him. “Well, see you again!”

The door slammed in his face.

* * *

 

 

 

Ryouma forgot to give the bottle to Fuji.

He had been so confused by everything that had happened that it had slipped his mind. When Fuji had asked him how it went, Ryouma had just told him it had been taken care of, not feeling like reliving the rushed, awkward experience, and Fuji had sent him out again with a delivery.

The bottle was resting at the bottom of his bag, and when he saw it when he returned to Momo’s place, he groaned. He took it out, thankful that the cork hadn’t fallen out and soaked his bag, and placed it on the kitchen table, gazing at it. Ryouma didn’t know much about potionmaking - granted, he didn’t know much of anything yet - but the potion Mizuki had given him looked surprisingly like soda. He was half expecting that maybe it was, and that it was all a trick to get Fuji off of his back. But when he rocked the bottle around, he noticed that it didn’t bubble like a soda would, and it moved slower, thicker than a pop drink. It wasn’t as thick as molasses would be, but definitely had a viscosity to it.

Mildly grossed out, Ryouma went to change out of his clothes and into his pajamas, as he typically did when he returned home from work. It’s not like he had anywhere to go. He passed by the bathroom, where inside Momoshiro was taking a shower, the steam coming out from the crack under the door. Karupin was sitting on the bed, and when it saw Ryouma, it let out a happy little cry. Ryouma knelt down beside the bed and pat it generously until it had it’s eyes closed and was purring. Ryouma was so involved in petting Karupin that he hadn’t heard Momoshiro leave the bathroom until he popped his head into the bedroom, looking at him with a frown.

“No ‘I’m home’? I thought there was an intruder in here for a second.”

“You were in the shower,” Ryouma snapped. “What, did you want me to barge in on you?”

Momoshiro stuck his tongue out at him, hilariously immature for someone who was supposedly two years his senior, and exited the bedroom. Ryouma gave Karupin one last pat before changing his clothes, pulling on a hoodie afterwards for Maximum Comfortability.

When he left the bedroom, he nearly felt his heart stop as he spotted Momoshiro downing the Mizuki’s potion.

“Man, this soda tastes like it’s expired,” Momoshiro said. He was still only in a towel, the absolute animal, standing at the table and licking his lips. There was only a portion of the drink left, with a sheen of brown residue on the inside where liquid had once been. “Of course you’d be the kind of guy to bring home expired soda. Don’t you Americans love it? Thought you would have noticed-”

“You drank it.” Ryouma said, shocked into stillness.

Momoshiro gave him a confused expression. “Yeah? What, did you want to drink it?”

“You...DRANK it!?” Ryouma was completely flabbergasted. “Why did you drink it?!”

His roommate looked sheepish, running a hand through his hair, still damp from the shower. “Uh, cuz I thought-”  
Ryouma rushed forward and grabbed the bottle from Momoshiro’s hand, looking panickedly at the bottle. He shook it in Momoshiro’s face. “Why did you think it was a good idea to drink something with a CORK in it!?”

“I-”

“It was potion, dumbass! I had to give it to Fuji tomorrow!” Ryouma didn’t know how to handle this situation. He wasn’t even entirely sure what the potion did yet, much less how to handle someone who had just drank a potion. Given Mizuki’s line of work, and Fuji’s demands for him to stop testing on his brother, Ryouma had nothing but feelings of dread. He whipped out his cellphone, turning away from Momo and nervously walking towards the door, then back.

He dialled Fuji’s number and put the phone up to his ear, rubbing at his eyes. Fuji picked up shortly after, the sound of the TV on in the background. “Hello-”

“Momoshiro drank the potion!” Ryouma cried.

“What potion?”

“Mizuki, he- he gave me the potion he had been testing on Yuuta to me to give to you so you could...could separate it, or something, so you’d know it wasn’t dangerous, or something! I just forgot all about it until I got home!”

There was a long pause. Ryouma looked at Momoshiro, who didn’t look any different. He was just looking at Ryouma with apprehension, just as nervous as he was now. “Well,” Fuji finally said. “That’s unfortunate.”

“I KNOW that,” Ryouma all but yelled. “What do I do? Is he going to die?”

“I’m going to die?!” Momoshiro yelped.

“He’s not going to die,” Fuji sounded...amused, almost. “Mizuki doesn’t do anything dangerous. But, hm.” It sounded like Fuji was paging through a book. “You do remember that he’s a master of love potions, right?”

Ryouma’s heart stopped in his chest. He looked up at Momoshiro, who looked back with a fearful gaze. He blanched, and Momoshiro looked like he was going to pass out. “...yeah.”

“Well, that’s probably all it is.” Fuji said it in such a blase way, as if Momoshiro drinking a love potion was no big deal. “Momo has a strong constitution, so I doubt-”

“I feel...queasy,” Momoshiro said, voice low. He paced over to the couch and lay down on it slowly, his face blank. Ryouma followed him, looking down on him.

“-it’ll pass,” Fuji had continued talking. “The question is just, how long will it last?”

“How long will it last?” Ryouma asked. Momoshiro shut his eyes, eyebrows furrowed, and raised his arm to cover his face. “He’s laying down.”

“It must be affecting him. I’ve never known Mizuki’s potions to be particularly effective, as much as he prides himself in them being everlasting. Why don’t you bring Momo here tomorrow and I can look?”

“Right,” Ryouma said after a few seconds, looking down at Momoshiro nervously. “Yeah, sure. As long as he’s not going to die?” Momoshiro was the one paying most of the rent, after all.

“He won’t die.”

They bid each other goodbye and Ryouma slipped his phone back into his sweatshirt pocket. Momoshiro hadn’t removed his arm from his face yet, and Ryouma wondered if he had slipped into some kind of potion-induced coma.

Ryouma cautiously leaned over the back of the couch, lips turned downwards. “Momoshiro?”

Momoshiro launched up into a sitting position, nearly smacking his head against Ryouma’s. Ryouma attempted to back off, but before he could, Momoshiro shot his arm out, grabbing Ryouma’s arm.

“Ryouma,” he said, eyes bright and face slightly flushed. His eyebrows furrowed, almost in confusion. “Will you go out with me?”

“No,” was the immediate response. Then, with an appalled expression, “What?”

In one smooth movement, Momoshiro pulled on Ryouma’s arm and Ryouma was falling over the back of the couch and awkwardly onto Momoshiro’s bare chest. Momoshiro’s arms wrapped around him, and Ryouma was acutely aware that only the pajamas on his back and the towel around Momoshiro’s waist kept them apart.

Ryouma laid in Momoshiro’s arms like a dead fish for a couple of seconds, listening to Momoshiro’s heartbeat, before laying his palms flat against his shoulders and shoving himself upwards, glaring wildly down at him. “What the hell are you doing!”

Momoshiro looked at him, and behind the stupefied look in his eyes, there was the same burning confusion Ryouma was feeling. “I don’t know! You’re really cute for some reason!” His face contorted to one of horror. “What did you make me drink?!”

“It was a love potion, dumbass!” Ryouma yelled. His face was entirely too warm. “It wasn’t for you!”

“Oh, god…” Momoshiro fell back against the couch again, hands covering his face. He peeked at him through his fingers. “This is bad, shortie.”

“Yeah,” Ryouma said.

“You’re so cute now. Fuck.”

Ryouma set his jaw, staring at a point somewhere in the room. He and Momoshiro had grown slightly closer in the past weeks, but not enough to the point where they could even be considered friends. Hearing another man - the bozo he was living with, at that - say these things to him was a little jarring. Yet, somehow, being complimented in such a way brought a warmth to Ryouma’s face.

Hey, he was human, after all, and Momoshiro wasn’t ugly.

“Don’t you have work?” Ryouma said icily.

Momoshiro flailed around, throwing Ryouma off of him and running back into the bedroom. In the quickest act of undressing and redressing, Momoshiro returned in his work uniform - just a plain white t-shirt and simple black pants, and a hat that covered his spiky hair.

“I’ll be back later,” Momoshiro said, beaming at him like he always did, laying a large hand on Ryouma’s head, like he always did. But instead of roughly tousling Ryouma’s hair, he gently pat him like how Ryouma pat Karupin when it was in deep sleep. Ryouma looked up at him, and Momoshiro’s blissed out expression turned to one of horrific realization, and he left for work without another word.

Ryouma lay down on the couch where Momoshiro had just been, and exhaled deeply. Oh, Christ.

 

* * *

 

At around five in the morning, Momoshiro returned from work.

He normally woke Ryouma up with the banging of the front door, or stubbing his toe on something and cursing, or shuffling around in the bedroom they shared. It was annoying, but Ryouma had gotten used to it, usually falling back asleep relatively quickly.  
But today, he was woken up by Momoshiro sitting beside him on his bed.

Ryouma drowsily lifted himself up onto an elbow, squinting in the dark. Momoshiro was gazing down at him, barely visible in the pitch darkness of the room, the only light coming from the digital clock on the bedside table. “Momoshiro-”

“This is really bad,” Momoshiro cut him off, voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you at work. That potion is really powerful, huh.”  
Ryouma, still in the haze of sleep, frowned. Fuji had told him that Mizuki’s potions were rarely effective, and not to worry about it. But here Momoshiro was, looking at him with such genuinely loving eyes. Maybe Fuji was trolling him, and if he was, it was working.

The bigger man reached out, his fingertips touching Ryouma’s temple. Ryouma felt himself become more alert at the sudden touch. “Momoshiro.”

“Call me Momo, brat,” Momoshiro said. He didn’t move anything other than his hand, which slowly grazed back, combing through Ryouma’s hair. Ryouma stayed extremely still, levelling Momoshiro with a steady glare as Momoshiro touched him. “This is all because you brought your magic stuff back to the apartment,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Ryouma said, voice more breathless than he had expected it to sound. After a few moments he inhaled sharply and pulled his head away from Momoshiro’s warm hold, laying back down. He pulled the covers over his head. “Go sleep for a couple hours. We’ll go see Fuji tomorrow.”

“Gotcha,” Momoshiro said, and his weight lifted from the mattress.

 

* * *

 

Momoshiro insisted on being the one to ride them over to Fujis’. Typically, Momoshiro wasn’t awake during the hours of the day, and thus let Ryouma ride his bike as he saw fit, but now that they were both awake, they had to share. Ryouma hated to share, and he hated sharing even more with his fakely enamored roommate.

“You only slept for like two hours,” Ryouma snapped. “You’re going to run us into traffic.”

Rubbing at his head, Momoshiro made a noise of disagreement, glaring at Ryouma. It was the same expression he always wore when glaring at him, but this time felt...affectionate. It made Ryouma feel nervous. “You gotta trust me, brat. I’ve been living here for at LEAST five years, and I’ve ridden this bike with even less sleep even further distances!”

“You’re lying,” Ryouma said grumpily.

Momoshiro beamed at him. “Hop on, shortie. And hold tight.”

As they rode over to Fujis’, Ryouma recounted the morning. Momoshiro hadn’t mentioned the incident from when he came home from work, and he suspected it was because despite being under the spell of a love potion, Momoshiro recognized that it was not behavior he would normally do. Perhaps that was why you never told anyone they were going to be given a potion - it took away the falsity of what the drinker assumed was real. Either way, Momoshiro was acting relatively normal other than the smiles that kept slipping past the typical assholish attitude he always had. For example, right now as they rode down a sidestreet, Momoshiro was casually recalling his night at work, and how his coworker - he never named him, only called him “Viper” - had slipped and fell on a spot where someone had spilled something, and how he had doubled over laughing, and how he and Viper nearly got into a fistfight before their manager stopped them. Ryouma’s hands tightened on his shoulders as they made a wide turn.

Fuji was outside watering his window plants when Momoshiro and Ryouma rolled up. Eiji, in cat form, thankfully, was sprawled out in the morning sun on the front step. Fuji turned to the duo with a smile as they broke to a stop. Momoshiro hopped off the bike and made a beeline for Eiji, attacking the poor cats’ unsuspecting belly, exposed to the sun, with a barrage of pats. Eiji meowed loudly and Ryouma latched the bike to one of the posts flanking Fuji’s front door.

“It’s nice to see you, Momo,” Fuji said after Momoshiro had had enough of harassing poor Eiji. He was smiling, but Ryouma knew that Fuji was assessing him - seeing the damage. “How are you?”

“Well, apparently, I drank some sort of witch thing last night,” Momoshiro said, voice pitched in annoyance. “The brat said it was for you.”

“Jealous?”

“What?!” Momoshiro flushed red, looking between Fuji and Ryouma with an angry expression. “Of course not!”

“That’s a good sign,” Fuji said with a wider smile than before. He invited them both inside, and up to his flat rather than in the store. Eiji had already run back up there, and was sitting at the window above Fuji’s kitchen counter now, staring intently outside. Fuji had the two sit at his coffee table, and asked to see the remnants of the potion. Momoshiro took a few moments to get comfortable at the table - he was considerably larger than both Fuji and Ryouma, and his legs didn’t fit as nicely beneath. Ryouma squeezed his lips together to hide an amused smile.

Fuji moved the bottle around, looking intently at the contents. There was about a quarter left, the rest chugged by a certain dumbass. It had settled slightly, the bottom much darker than the top. Fuji rest the bottle on the table and frowned. “Turn away, Momo.”

Momoshiro turned his head, and Ryouma didn’t understand why until he saw Fuji take a small blade - no bigger than his finger - from his pocket and cut a small sliver into his right index finger. Ryouma’s heartbeat quickened - blood magic. He couldn’t believe it had taken Momoshiro getting unwillingly potion tested for him to see it in action.

The act was unimpressive, yet at the same time, Ryouma was at attention. Fuji murmured something so quietly under his breath, and touched the bottle with the finger he had opened, and the contents of the bottle rose in layers, slowly separating itself into pieces. Ryouma was enthralled. hands gripping the edge of the table. It was such a mundane spell, and yet Ryouma was starved for it. Slowly, Fuji’s words became quieter, and quieter still, until he wasn’t speaking anymore, and the portions of the potion fell back together with a splash. Fuji removed his finger, and rubbed his thumb on the slit he had cut. Ryouma watched intently.

“Can I look back now?” Momoshiro asked.

“Mizuki’s the same as always,” Fuji said, outwardly annoyed. “His potion brewing is still relatively weak. It should wear off by tomorrow night.”

Tomorrow. Ryouma felt himself sink slightly into the table, relieved.

“However, potions used on outsiders to magic are usually stronger. So it could last until Friday.”

Ryouma groaned, burying his head in his arms. Friday was in three days.

“Is there a way to…” Momoshiro glanced at Ryouma briefly, then looked away with furrowed eyebrows. “Lessen the effects?”

“I’m not a potionmaster. I’m not really sure how it works.” Fuji admitted. The corners of his lips quirked upwards. “Why? Can’t handle some love potion in your system?”

Momoshiro began to argue that yes, of course he could, he was a man after all, and blah blah blah blah. Ryouma phased them out, wondering how he was going to put up with Momoshiro’s affections for another three days. Luckily they didn’t see each other very often, and nothing questionable had happened besides Momoshiro waking him up. If it was limited to just that, Ryouma could survive the sudden change in relationship.

 

* * *

 

What Ryouma hadn’t accounted for was how lonely he had been.

Ryouma wasn’t much of a dater, or a romantic - he didn’t find relationships interesting. Not out of being without options, but simply because it wasn’t a part of him. But still, he was in his twenties, and hadn’t been touched affectionately like that - beyond

Eiji’s friendly glomps of greeting - since he was in high school. Having his hair touched so frequently felt taboo, felt almost romantic, even when he told himself that this was just like Momoshiro’s daily noogies, just slower.

He knew it was because of the love potion. Despite what Fuji said when bashing Mizuki’s work, it definitely worked on Momoshiro. Momoshiro had returned to their apartment with the bike to go get some sleep after Ryouma agreed to walking home that day. So when Ryouma had gone back, he had expected Momoshiro to be asleep, not cooking at the stove, frowning at an old book of recipes. Not cooking him dinner.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Momoshiro let out a yelp, nearly dropping the wooden spoon in his hand. “Jesus, Ryouma. Be a little louder when you come home next time.”

“Why are you cooking?”

“Can’t a man cook some food in the comfort of his own home?” Momoshiro answered defensively. Ryouma approached him, peering into the pot on the stove. It was just some pasta, and Momoshiro was cutting a tomato into uneven slices. “Maybe I was cooking us dinner. Well, breakfast for me. I did sleep, you know.” He paused when Ryouma stalled beside him. “And I won’t do this again after Friday, so you better suck up my love while you can.”

Ryouma huffed, tension releasing from his shoulders. “Let me cut the tomatoes. You’re really bad at it.”

“Well excuse me,” Momoshiro said, but it was unlike their usual banter. Ryouma felt his heart beat a little faster. They were almost flirting, weren’t they?

He was probably overthinking it. He roughly took the knife from Momoshiro’s hands and hummed impatiently.

 

* * *

 

Ryouma woke again to Momoshiro settling down on the bed beside him. Ryouma turned over and Momoshiro was above him, gazing down at him. Closer this time. Ryouma could faintly feel the other man’s hand where it was on the bed, just grazing his leg under the covers.

“Hey,” Ryouma said a little shakily. It was nearing six, rather than five, so the sun was beginning to peek through the slats of the blinds over the window. He could see Momoshiro’s face better than he could yesterday. He said, “wrong bed.”

“Felt like saying hi,” Momoshiro whispered. “This love potion thing sucks. Did you know that you’re literally all that’s in my head? I wonder how it works.”

“Do we have to talk about this at six in the morning?” Ryouma muttered. “Can’t this happen later?”

“But we’re here now.” He paused. The hand next to Ryouma’s leg inched closer, but Ryouma made no move to react to it. “Move over.”

No. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon. When’s the last time you had someone sleep in the same bed as you?”

Never. “No, Momoshiro-”

“Jeez,” Momoshiro cut him off, smiling at him in the dark, and Ryouma’s heart shuddered. Momoshiro’s hand by his leg dug beneath him, wrapping him in the covers, and rolled him over. Ryouma protested, as did Karupin, who had been sleeping on the other side of him. He rose to his elbows as Momoshiro flopped down beside him, sighing sleepily. It was later than yesterday, Ryouma noticed, because Momoshiro was already out of his work uniform and back into his pajamas.

Ryouma stared at him for a while longer, wondering how he was going to survive another two mornings.

Momoshiro’s eyes opened and he grinned, grabbing Ryouma’s shoulders and pulling him down. “Hey!” Ryouma muttered, awkwardly folded against Momoshiro’s chest.

“Go back to sleep,” Momoshiro said, sounding pleased with himself.

Ryouma rearranged his limbs so that his arms weren’t bent beneath him, trying to find a comfortable position now that Momoshiro had invaded. It was easy, he found with a sense of dread, to fit together like this, and he fell back into troubled sleep listening to Momoshiro’s steady breathing.

 

* * *

 

By the time Friday rolled around, nothing had escalated past Momoshiro joining him in bed in the mornings. Momoshiro was either good at hiding the effects of the potion, considering how often he complimented and made advances towards Ryouma verbally, or he was just acting up a poorly made one.

It kind of pissed Ryouma off. One, because Momoshiro’s physical affection, as minor as it was, was affecting him. And two, because Mizuki had made an ineffective potion.

And, three, Fuji mocked him relentlessly at work.

“Today’s the last day,” Fuji said cheerfully, leering at Ryouma from behind his counter as Ryouma did menial labor around the shop - he was currently sweeping. He gave Fuji a grave, sleepless stare. Eiji was dozing on the counter beside Fuji’s rested elbows, every so often making a small, contented noise. “Aren’t you excited?”

“I’m not sure what you mean by ‘excited’,” Ryouma muttered, focusing on the sweeping.

“Excited that your roommate won’t be hanging all over you like you’re the hottest thing ever,” Fuji said, undeterred by Ryouma’s soured mood at the mention of the topic. “Unless you enjoy it?” Ryouma shuddered, and Fuji’s devilish smile grew wider. “Setting you two up to live together was a good idea, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t act like this was all your master plan to be a matchmaker for me,” Ryouma said.

Fuji rose his hands in innocent surrender.

“And I don’t like it.” Ryouma paused, hands gripping the broom handle tighter. “Well, I guess I don’t hate it. But I don’t like him, so I might as well dislike it, right?”

“Lonely?” Ryouma looked at Fuji, whose smile had turned slightly kinder. Understanding. Ryouma wasn’t sure if he liked the direction this conversation had suddenly taken, even if he had dreaded the original more. “Did you leave someone in the states?”

The states. Ryouma narrowed his eyes and looked away. “No. I brought Karupin here, right?” Fuji’s laugh was almost piteous. Ryouma had been honest - Karupin was his closest friend. “What about you? You never have anyone over. Waiting for Tezuka to come back?”

It was a underhanded jab, perhaps, given what Ryouma knew of the two, and how nobody in the community ever seemed to mention the pair. Not even at the meeting of the witches had Tezuka been mentioned beyond Atobe’s side comment about his presence. But Fuji didn’t seem to take it harshly, his hand drifting over to where Eiji lay, scratching at the cat’s fur. Eiji purred loudly enough that Ryouma could hear him over his resumed sweeping of the floor.

He never answered, and Ryouma assumed he didn’t really deserve one, either. His mind wandered to Momoshiro, and the potion’s effects ending tonight, and the pang of loneliness it gave him deep within his chest.

 

* * *

 

He left work early on Fuji’s suggestion, and upon entering the apartment, he was surprised to see Momoshiro there. Sat on the couch, Momoshiro was gazing absently up at the ceiling, a troubled expression on his face.

“Aren’t you usually asleep right now?” Ryouma asked, removing his hat and shaking out his hair. Momoshiro seemed startled out of whatever trance he had been in, looking over at Ryouma as he removed his jacket, and bag, from his shoulders. “It’s weird to see you up before five.”

Momoshiro was giving him a frustrated look - one that did not spark Ryouma was good news. After a few moments of them staring at each other, challenging, Momoshiro spoke. “Today’s the day the potion wears off, right?”

“Yes,” Ryouma said. “That’s what Fuji said.”

“What time do you think it’ll wear off?”

Ryouma darted a look at the digital clock display on the stove. It was 4:34. “I’m not sure.”

Despite his complaints, Ryouma felt a pull inside his chest that told him he didn’t necessarily want Momoshiro’s newly discovered affections to go away. He had told Fuji that he didn’t mind the physicality of being near someone, and it was still ringing in his head. It was true, despite his reservations with it being Momoshiro on the giving end of them. There were few people that made him react this way in return, with quickened heartbeats and flushed skin, and the rarity of it made the situation all the more confusing. Slowly, with heavy footsteps, he approached Momoshiro, who had lowered his head to his hands.

“What’s wrong?”

“I thought it’d go away,” Momoshiro was saying as Ryouma sat beside him. Cautiously. Ryouma, though aware of Mizuki’s poor love potion skills, still had no knowledge of the other side effects that could be occurring.

“It wasn’t that strong to begin with, right?” Ryouma chose his words carefully, and Momoshiro looked at him through splayed fingers. “I mean. If it lasts a little longer, it wouldn’t be terrible.”

There was a stretch of silence. Momoshiro hid his face again. “It would be.”

Ryouma’s heart skipped a beat, quickening not from budding feelings he couldn’t describe, but from anxiousness. Momoshiro had hated the entire time, but acted out of necessity from the potion. It made Ryouma’s reactions feel even more rooted in falsity - falsity of what, he wondered.

“I’m sorry I’m not a good cuddle-buddy,” Ryouma said in the most deadpan voice he could muster.

Momoshiro looked at him again. There was another pause, and Ryouma avoided his eyes.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question came out in the smallest voice, Ryouma almost didn’t hear him. He whipped his gaze over to the older man, eyes wide in shock. “What?!”

Momoshiro began to babble, caught in his words. He had been feeling much stronger than he had anticipated, and had been trying to ignore it for Ryouma’s sake - and his, he added hastily - and the potion was to blame, obviously, even though Fuji said it was weak, and Momo would never feel something for a brat roommate forced on him from America. But the feeling had been there all week, and hadn’t lessened at all, just gotten worse, and Momo wondered if kissing would break the curse, like all those fairytales -

“Like Snow White?” Ryouma interrupted, bemused by this sudden rush of confession.

“Like Snow White!” Momoshiro said breathlessly.

“Except you’re not in a deep sleep.” Ryouma paused. “And I’m not a prince.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, and Momoshiro’s hands moved first, grasping Ryouma’s wrists gently, his rough, worked hands warm on Ryouma’s skin. Ryouma’s mind raced, unsure of whether or not to put a stop to this. A small voice in his mind told him that this wouldn’t break the potion’s curse. Another voice, even smaller, told him this was all a ploy to kiss Ryouma.

The general consensus was that, Ryouma wasn’t sure he minded either way. He hadn’t kissed anyone in over five years.

“Can we just try it?” Momo asked, his voice quiet again. “Just to see.”

He wasn’t sure which one of them moved towards the other first, but Ryouma’s competitive spirit hoped that it was him. Their lips met ungracefully. Momoshiro had a mission - to cure the potions curse. Not to give his roommate a perfect first kiss. Ryouma had inexperience to blame for his poor technique. Yet, despite it, Ryouma felt his breathing hitch, subconsciously leaning closer to Momoshiro, his eyebrows knitted. The kiss was turning hot, quickly - Ryouma wondered if Momoshiro knew what he was doing as his tongue ran across Ryouma’s lower lip, and Ryouma wondered if he knew what HE was doing allowing it to continue, returning the kiss with the same intensity. They parted, the breath between them shallow and warm, and Ryouma opened his eyes to gaze into hazel ones. Challenging, in a way.

“Did it work?” Ryouma said, leveling his voice as best as he could. Momoshiro’s hands were still hot on his wrists, and now, a little clammy.

“No,” Momoshiro said. His eyebrows were furrowed deeply as his eyes darted around Ryouma’s features, settling back on his lips. “Is that normal? You’re the witch. Tell me.”

“Maybe you just like me,” Ryouma said. Lightly. The statement hung heavy between them, and Momoshiro squinted, hard, like he was assessing Ryouma like a piece of artwork that hung on the wall of a museum that he didn’t understand. As time stretched on, and Momoshiro’s hands did not remove themselves from his own, Ryouma began to regret saying it - it may have been a lapse of judgement, a moment of weakness slipping from his lips. He would have been lying, though, if he said he wanted Momoshiro to deny it.

A bright red had spread to Momoshiro’s face, and his eyes were averted. His hands had not moved. “Who would like a brat like you, anyway?”

Ryouma supposed, in his mind, it wasn’t a denial.

 

* * *

 

“So, Mizuki,” Fuji said in one of his rare phone calls to the potionmaster. He had his feet kicked up leisurely onto his coffee table as he paged through a magazine with one hand and held a drink in the other. His phone was nestled neatly between head and shoulder. He said, “about the potion you gave my apprentice.”

On the other end of the line, the man sounded smug. “I was wondering when you were going to ask me about it! Go ahead. Tell me how ineffective it was and how you can be free of worry about me using it on Yuuta. It is basically useless! It’s all safe over here.”

“On the contrary,” Fuji said. He smiled, swirling his drink in his glass, and despite Mizuki not being able to see him, he knew his smile sounded in his voice. “My apprentice unfortunately had his roommate drink it, and they are lovebirds now. For once, your potion has worked charms! It sure was strong.”

Mizuki blustered. There was the sound of him dropping something onto a table. “What?! But it was a null potion! It wasn’t meant to do anything!”

“Maybe you should get into placebo magics,” Fuji said dryly. He took a sip of his drink. “Also, stop testing on Yuuta. I won’t be fooled by one of your fake potions again, and neither will by apprentice.”

He didn’t give Mizuki a chance to retort before hanging up, grinning proudly to himself. Fuji, one, Mizuki, zero.


	12. Chapter 12

Yukimura did not live alone.

Kirihara saw him, the tall and wide-shouldered man that would come and go upstairs occasionally. He was handsome, and his name was Sanada, and he was, admittedly, jealous of the relationship he had with Yukimura. Nobody else seemed close to Yukimura in the way the man was, not even Niou, who boasted to Kirihara all the time that he had known Yukimura for years. 

Sometimes, Sanada would come while Kirihara was watching Yukimura work around the shop, neatening his flower displays or plucking unsightly leaves that had fallen to the shelves. Kirihara sat behind the counter while Yukimura neatened up his shop - he trusted no one else but himself to do the tidying up - and in through the door could come the imposing, and strong, body of Sanada Genichirou. Yukimura’s impeccably perfect composure would relax in his presence, and Kirihara would soak up the atmosphere like a sponge, blissfully happy as long as Yukimura was.

Kirihara had been introduced once, but only once. Sanada had given him intense and judgemental stares, like a disapproving father, but when his gaze turned on Yukimura, it was softer. Gentler. Like looking at a loved one. Yukimura spoke of Kirihara fondly, but Sanada only focused on the shop owner, not his praising words of another.

He couldn’t help but wonder.

And his suspicions only grew when he noticed how often Sanada stayed with Yukimura. More oftentimes than not, Sanada would be there in the mornings while Kirihara was getting ready to make deliveries, neatly stacking potted plants into boxes for travel. He’d stare at Kirihara, icy and disconnected, then nod at him gruffly. Kirihara, bashfully, would return the greeting, awed by his classically defined face and wide body. He’d be lying if he was not admirative of Sanada’s physique. He was handsome, strong, and appeared to have the attentions of Yukimura, all at once. What wasn’t to envy? Whenever he came to the shop, Kirihara would admire him from afar, never risking striking up a conversation.

“You’ve been looking at Sanada quite often lately. Are you interested in him?” Yukimura asked one day, his face never betraying the typical graceful expression he wore. He clipped at a small, delicate pot of pink flowers today.

Kirihara was caught off guard by the question, his face reddening brightly. “What?! N-no! Isn’t he...well, he’s your-”

“It was just a question,” Yukimura said. Easily, smoothly. He never once turned his attention away from the flower. 

“Aren’t you dating him?!” Kirihara finally blurted, looking scandalized at even mentioning it. He had made assumptions that they were, even getting Niou to give him some insight (given it was Niou, it was not very insightful at all), and was going to feel foolish if he was wrong.

Yukimura quietly set the clippers down on the tabletop and graced Kirihara with a smile. Kirihara shrunk slightly underneath it. “You’d be right. You’re very observant. I tried to keep it quiet. You are the only one who has seemed to notice.”

“Why?” Kirihara was slightly astonished he been right, but was also shocked at Yukimura attempting to hide such a perfect relationship. He lowered his voice, despite there being no risk of being overheard in the quiet shop. “Is it forbidden?”

Yukimura’s laugh was like wind chimes on a spring day’s breeze. “No, but he’s not of magical inclination.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Hm.” Yukimura seemed lost for words momentarily. “No, but it is frowned upon to include outsiders in magical practices.” He paused again. “And mine involves most of my daily life, if not all of it.”

“That’s what makes you so much better than the others,” Kirihara said, voice oozing with adoration. 

“I appreciate the compliment,” Yukimura said fondly. “Would you like to accompany me and Sanada for dinner tonight, Akaya?”

Of course Kirihara would.

 

* * *

 

 

Kirihara, rarely, ever stepped into Yukimura’s home. It was just as neat as his shop was, and lined with just as many delicate plants, but these were for Yukimura’s own personal use. Not for general sale. They had magical properties, some of which sparkled unnaturally, little orbs of light daintily floating around their leaves. Kirihara oohed and ahhed over them whenever he was given a chance to see them. Yukimura, unlike other witches, was private with his magic, but not ashamed of it. Not like that Fuji man, who practiced dirty magic and hid it - it was dishonorable, IKO (in Kirihara’s opinion). The same went for Atobe Keigo, whom he disliked even more than Fuji. The man had potential to be a beautiful witch like Yukimura, but used his magic cheaply. Kirihara, not entirely versed in magic, wasn’t sure of the intricacies of Atobe’s magic, but knew he made ice sculptures for parties, and that was enough to cheapen it in his eyes. 

Sanada arrived an hour after Kirihara had relaxed, feeling at home, on Yukimura’s couch, a modern white suede, enjoying the feel of the cool fabric. Where Sanada went during the day, Kirihara was not sure. He had never gotten to ask. He gazed at Sanada, impressed, as the man removed his jacket and hung it neatly from the coatrack Yukimura kept by the door. It appeared to only be there for Sanada’s jacket, since there was nothing of Yukimura’s hanging from it.

“Kirihara,” Sanada said in that serious voice. Kirihara’s heartbeat quickened. He knew his name. 

“I invited him to eat dinner with us,” Yukimura said brightly. While Kirihara had been lounging, Yukimura had disappeared into the kitchen, and the sound of a knife on a cutting block had filled the quiet home. 

Sanada responded with a grunt. Rather than joining Yukimura in the kitchen, he sat with Kirihara on the couch, bending Kirihara’s extended legs back to sit right beside him. Kirihara fumbled, rushing to sit up properly. Sanada still had height on him when they were sitting, Kirihara noticed with some awe.

“Yukimura speaks highly of you,” Sanada said. It was extremely formal. It felt like Kirihara was meeting a new date’s father, but in reality, he was just meeting his boss’ boyfriend. Still, the feeling of needing to be respectful was there. “He even calls you by your first name.”

“Y-yes,” Kirihara stammered.

“He doesn’t even call Niou by his first name.”

“No,” Kirihara agreed.

Sanada’s eyes were imploring. “He must like you.”

It felt like an interrogation. Kirihara couldn’t help the smirk that twitched on his lips. “He does.”

“Don’t be so harsh on him, Gen,” Yukimura finally spoke up. He was setting out plates at the small table he had pressed up against the largest window of the room. The late afternoon sun beamed in pleasantly, and a gentle breeze from the open window rustled the curtains. “He was just interested in meeting you properly. There’s nothing more to it.”

Kirihara felt a nervous twinge in his stomach. Did he… he looked at Sanada, the twinge growing. “I- I don’t …” he stumbled over his words, his thoughts jumbled beyond recognition. “I’m not trying to steal your boyfriend,” he eventually sputtered, the lack of gracefulness in his words eliciting a sharp chuckle from Yukimura. Sanada did not seem as amused, but the tension on his shoulders loosened slightly. Kirihara felt a large sense of dread upon realizing who Sanada had supposed him to be - Yukimura’s part-time worker, part-time lover. The thought alone was enough to turn his limbs to stone, immobile, heavy from where they hung from his body. 

“I didn’t think you were.” Sanada’s voice had a new tone to it, and Kirihara knew he was lying. Sanada seemed to be a protective man, perhaps overly so. Yukimura didn’t need protecting - so Kirihara thought, but he knew deep inside, he had been just as questioning of Sanada. “It’s always nice to meet people Yukimura thinks so highly of.”

Then, Sanada clapped a heavy hand on Kirihara’s shoulder, and the touch shuddered through him like an earthquake. 

“And he’s got better manners than Niou,” Yukimura said in a teasing voice.

“Thank god for that.”

 

* * *

 

 

It felt almost as if Kirihara was being adopted by Yukimura and Sanada as they ate together. Kirihara was sat across the table from where they sat together, further apart than he had expected. He, in thoughts of flightless fancy, expected Yukimura to be a romantic, touchy person in intimate moments, from all the times he had ruffled Kirihara’s hair or gently touched his shoulder to move him when he was in the way. But instead, had he not known better, not seen Sanada in his pajamas in the early mornings at Yukimura’s shop, he would have presumed them to be friends, or even acquaintances. Like how Yukimura was with the members of his book club. 

Sanada sat with his back perfectly straight, appearing disciplined and overly polite, the perfect image of refined beside Yukimura. The atmosphere had a strange quality to it, and it made Kirihara tense. The other two, however, appeared comfortable in the silence.

“How long have you two known each other?” Kirihara asked, shyly, unwilling to break the silence.

Yukimura looked thoughtfully at Sanada, who met his gaze. “We were ten,” Yukimura answered.

“Wow!” Kirihara couldn’t hide his surprise. “That’s a long time!”

“Almost fifteen years,” Sanada said.

“Fifteen years ago I was seven,” Kirihara said, voice full of wonder. “Man, I would have looked up to you guys in school so much. I bet you were popular. You’re both good looking,” Kirihara blurted, then turned red, and stammered, “You know. High school. It was important then. Made people. Popular.”

Yukimura easily overlooked Kirihara’s stumble, but Sanada was fixing him with a look that Kirihara pointedly ignored, staring at his plate nervously. “Hmm. I suppose we were popular, weren’t we, Genichirou?” 

“I guess,” he said roughly.

“Were you in any clubs?” Kirihara asked. His curiosity had peaked with the image of younger Yukimura, and by extension, Sanada. “What school did you go to? When did you start to dat-”

“You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” Sanada asked. 

It was targeted at Kirihara, but Yukimura answered. “He’s just interested.”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“Not him.”

 

* * *

 

 

Kirihara ended the night by saying goodbye to Yukimura at the door to the shop, his backpack slung over one shoulder. Sanada had stayed upstairs to clean up after the meal. The sun now was low, casting orange light across the sky.

“I don’t think he liked me very much,” Kirihara said glumly in Yukimura’s confidence.

“He takes a while to warm up to people,” Yukimura said. It was almost apologetic, and Kirihara immediately forgave him. “He’ll come around to you soon, I bet.”

Kirihara wanted to ask - why was he like that? It felt so secretive, like there was something being kept from him that Yukimura had wanted to be told, but it hadn’t been. He wondered why he needed Sanada there for it, too. But Kirihara respected his boss, both as his boss and as a person, so he restrained himself, tightening his hands on the straps of his backpack.

“I hope so,” Kirihara said, genuinely hopefully. Sanada reminded him of someone he’d like to be someday. A real man, in a way. “It was fun!”

Yukimura gazed at him softly in the evening light and pat him good-naturedly on his unruly head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Kirihara.” The words were fond, like they were parting for months, rather than one night.

“See ya,” Kirihara said, rejuvenated by Yukimura’s touch, and jogged off to catch his bus home.


	13. Chapter 13

Ryouma had been having a reasonably relaxing day at Fuji’s studio. Eiji was in his human form, seated by the window, gazing outwards eagerly at people who passed by. Fuji had become lenient with him, perhaps too much so, given what had conspired a mere week ago, or perhaps he didn’t feel like fighting with a catman. Ryouma was seated at the counter, writing small numbers in the bottom right corners on the back of a set of photographs. They had a specific sequence, a stop motion film of a flower blooming, so Ryouma had been instructed to number them. It was menial, but calming to do, so he didn’t mind too much. Fuji, looking just as relaxed as Ryouma felt, was doing the same with another set of photos. The sun rising.

The relaxing atmosphere shattered as the door swung open, clattering so loudly on the wall that it startled Eiji, causing him to run back upstairs instinctively. Ryouma jumped off of his stool, sending a couple of unnumbered photos to the floor, much to his dismay.

Fuji looked up, expression taut, hands stilled tensely from his job.

Atobe Keigo had entered with all the grace of a bull in a china shop. The man, as Ryouma remembered him from the club meeting, was just as decked out as before, if not more so. He looked absolutely ridiculous, in a white suit with a feathered jacket. He reached up a gloved hand and removed the sunglasses perched on his long slope of a nose and assessed Fuji with a haughty stare, ignoring Ryouma completely.

“Shusuke,” he said, all too intimately. It made the hair on Ryouma’s neck stand up - nobody called Fuji that, not even Tezuka had in their conversations.

“Keigo,” Fuji said with all the warmth of a blizzard. “What do you want?”

“I am here,” Atobe said, pulling a yellow envelope from inside his jacket with a flourish, “to invite you and your,” a pause, and he fixed a stare on Ryouma that Ryouma could only interpret as contemptuous, “ _apprentice_ to an event. Witches only.”

“What’s the occasion?” Ryouma asked, interested suddenly in this exclusive party.

“Shiraishi has returned to Japan and I feel as if though we should celebrate,” Atobe said, unhelpfully entirely to Ryouma, who didn’t know who this “Shiraishi” was. Given the way Fuji’s eyebrow twitched only slightly, he had a feeling Fuji wasn’t his biggest fan. Or, perhaps, he was limiting his excitement in Atobe’s presence.

“I thought he was staying in South America for longer,” was all Fuji said.

“Hmm, perhaps the rainforest proved just about as boring as I told him it would be,” Atobe’s voice had a smug lilt to it that ground Ryouma’s gears. Atobe reminded him of his father, in a way - the same self assured smugness that Nanjiroh had when he spoke to Ryouma about magic. “Either way, he’s returning, and he supposedly is going to show off his new discovery.” Atobe said it with a hint of mystique, like he was advertising to an audience watching a magic show. Fuji was deadpan. “Aren’t you curious?”

“I’m always curious about what nonsense Shiraishi is concocting,” Fuji said in the driest voice imaginable. The energy in the room felt dangerous as Atobe advanced on the duo, his shiny black shoes clicking loudly on the tiled floor. With a flick of the wrist, the envelope was in Fuji's face. Slowly, Fuji took it from Atobe's two finger grip and held it tenderly in his own hand, not even blinking once as they stared at each other.

"It'll be a pleasure to see you there," Atobe said, but the good natured comment was lost on Fuji, whose smile was clearly fake, and Atobe's friendliness the same. There was a solid pause, in which Ryouma thought he'd die from the tension, and then Atobe said in a wavering voice well concealed, "Is there any way-"

"He's not coming," Fuji said, a pleasant smile on his face. It was anything but pleasant.

Atobe made a face of disappointment and, with one final goodbye, clicked his way out of the shop and back outside where, where Ryouma hadn't noticed before, a limo awaited his return. It peeled out and just as quickly as he had entered their lives, he was out of it again, the only signs he was there the envelope in Fuji's hand and the smell of perfume in the air.

"You don't like him?" Ryouma asked.

"Hm." At first it didn't seem that Fuji had really heard his question. "We don't dislike each other..."

"Then what's the deal with," Ryouma gestured loosely towards where Atobe's limo had been, "that?"

"Atobe is extremely interested in Tezuka," Fuji said plainly, and it made Ryouma wonder what was with all these witches being so close to Tezuka, a supposed witch hunter. For a witch hunter under the "Tezuka" name, he sure had a lot of friends and acquaintances that would make you guess otherwise.

"Are you jealous?" Ryouma wondered aloud. Fuji gave him a startled stare. "Is Tezuka _interested_ in Atobe?"

Fuji let out a loud exhale that was something of a laugh, if the expression on Fuji’s face was any indication. “Atobe is infatuated with him, but Tezuka is…” Fuji’s voice trailed off, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. “Well. You’ve met Tezuka.”

“I have.”

“He’s rather stubborn. In more than one respect.”

“Not stubborn enough to not befriend every witch in Japan,” Ryouma said, eyebrows raised.

Fuji gave Ryouma a look, and Ryouma shrugged.

 

* * *

 

Of course, Atobe’s invitation had extended to Ryouma - the “apprentice”, Atobe had said in a disgusted tone - so he was to appear with Fuji. He had a feeling Fuji was bringing him along for companionship rather than any other reason. In most cases, Fuji would have come alone, most likely, if it had been any event other than Atobe’s party. Fuji insisted Ryouma wear something nice, and Ryouma had only brought one “nice” outfit with him to Japan, and it was slightly wrinkled from still being packed away in the apartment. Momoshiro only made fun of him a little bit when Ryouma walked out in it to show it off.

“Have you ever met Atobe?” Ryouma asked. Momoshiro was resting his chin on the back of the couch, watching as Ryouma self-consciously tugged at the hem of the mottled gray jacket he wore.

“Sure have,” he said. He did a hand gesture that prompted Ryouma to twirl around so Momoshiro could see the full outfit. He didn’t seem much more impressed with the back than he did the front. “He’s an asshole.”

“I could tell that from the moment I met him.”

“You’re very observant.”

“He didn’t exactly hide it.”

Momoshiro snickered. “I haven’t met him more than like, five times. Each time was a disaster. He’s a warlock, right?” Ryouma nodded. “He’s totally bad at it. Back when Tezuka was around-” the name on Momoshiro’s lips seemed strange, but Tezuka was apparently well known in the area, “-he and Fuji would talk about him all the time. I think it pissed Fuji off, but Tezuka seemed unnerved about Atobe’s magic, so he was always wondering about it.”

Ryouma frowned. He vaguely remembered Fuji dissing Atobe’s magic at the meeting, something about elemental magic, but only focusing on one element. A third of his potential. “Why was he unnerved by it?”

“Don’t you know?” Momoshiro’s knowledge on magic was apparently much more grand than Ryouma had given the clear anti-magic user credit for. “Atobe’s a witch-hunter too.”

 

* * *

 

“You didn’t ask,” Fuji said when Ryouma questioned him on this before they made for the party. Fuji looked sharp in a dark blue suit with a pearl colored pocket square. He pointed at Ryouma’s ensemble of a gray jacket and dark, unpressed pants. “You look nice.”

“It seems like a big deal,” Ryouma said, voice pitched in annoyance, “that he’s a witch hunter.”

“That’s why you stay on his good side,” Fuji said, carefully choosing his words. After Ryouma steeled him with a glare as Fuji locked the shop door, he sighed. “He’s...a hunter for sport. It’s not something he does for any familial obligation, like Tezuka.”

“That’s even worse,” Ryouma was appalled. He hadn’t liked Atobe before, but now he really didn’t. “What kind of witch hunts his own kind?”

“Atobe has a penchant for justice,” Fuji said plainly. Ryouma wondered if that meant he hunted “evil” witches. He wondered if Fuji was his prey. Then, “and he likes being equal to Tezuka in everything. And that includes witch hunting.”

Ryouma huffed, pushing that previous thought away. They approached Fuji’s car, a black sedan neatly tucked away into an alleyway beside the shop. “Couldn’t he hunt rabbits instead?”

“He does that too,” Fuji said.

 

* * *

 

The Atobe mansion was, as Ryouma had envisioned when he heard about it in the states, was massive. It was in a nice town, with large, expansive lawns and high, gilded fences. Ryouma didn’t come from a bad family, but this was way beyond anything he could imagine himself living in. Fuji didn’t seem perturbed by the mansions they rolled past in his slightly worn down car, sticking out like a sore thumb.

“He’s as gaudy in his housing as he is in his clothes,” Ryouma muttered, and Fuji snorted.

They rolled up a long, pebbled driveway that led to a large fountain, sparkling and flashy, as was everything related to Atobe. There were also ice sculptures lining the lawn, impeccable despite the sun in the sky, to celebrate the occasion. One was of Atobe (predictably) and the others, of various animals, then at the other end, another man. Ryouma assumed it to be the Shiraishi person that this party was for in the first place. It was easy to forget.

A young man took Fuji’s keys and replaced it in his hand with a red ticket. Then they were left, the valet driving the car off to somewhere else on the property, before the grand entrance. The steps leading up to the door were smooth and white, inexplicably cleaned on the daily. Ryouma felt like an intruder as he walked up them in his shoes - they weren’t the dressiest, but they were the best he had at short notice. Fuji, on the other hand, looked like he could fit in. Fuji had a kind of exquisitely built face that made him look rich, and not like a photographer, a blood witch.

The doors at the top of the stairs were open, letting the warm air in. The floor inside was packed with people, and Ryouma refused to believe they were _all_ witches, as Atobe had insisted when he had visited. But Fuji didn’t seem shocked by this, either. Fuji was, apparently, against all odds, used to Atobe’s nonsense.

Speak of the devil, Atobe could be seen up on a balcony above the guests, gazing out upon them like some sort of lord. Ryouma fought the snicker he felt bubbling from within at how ridiculous the whole scene was. He followed Fuji as they wound through throngs of people. Fuji addressed several with short greetings, or a passing smile. They came across Yukimura and Kirihara, who was looking eagerly at everything. Yukimura looked like he blended into the scene better than even Atobe did; he was picturesque and elegant where Atobe was imposing and gaudy in sequins, all but lounging on the railing above them. Ryouma allowed himself to gaze at Yukimura, awed by his presence, before Kirihara’s excited attention snapped to him, and instantly, he became a guard dog.

“Watch where you’re looking,” Kirihara said loudly.

“Hello, Fuji.” Yukimura said smoothly. “Ryouma.”

He had remembered his name. Ryouma nodded, letting Fuji do the talking for them. “Hello, Yukimura. I assume Shiraishi’s upstairs with Atobe?”

“He is,” Yukimura said. His voice turned odd, his elegant face crumpling in a frown. “He’s brought something...interesting with him. I’m not sure…” He paused, and Ryouma saw his shoulders tense beneath the tan jacket he wore. “I’m not sure what Atobe’s throwing this party for.”

“Shiraishi’s thing is COOL!” Kirihara interjected, unable to contain himself. “A golem!”

“A golem?” Fuji repeated.

Ryouma had vague awareness of what a golem was. He had seen them, before, in movies. “Like a big stone man?”

“Something like that.” Fuji appeared troubled. Yukimura, as well, mirrored Fuji’s expression. Somewhere above them, Ryouma could hear Atobe laughing.

“Golems can be dangerous. They’re powerful, sentient beings. And well…” Yukimura’s shoulders shifted. “The magic community doesn’t like bringing sentience to things that otherwise shouldn’t be.” Ryouma gave Fuji a very pointed stare that Yukimura either missed or ignored, luckily for Fuji.

Kirihara looked anything but disheartened, feet shuffling excitedly. “But he’s so cool! And big and strong. Kind of like Sa-” he stopped, completely, face turning tomato red. Ryouma quirked an eyebrow, and Kirihara glared at him. Yukimura, with his face turned away from Kirihara, appeared amused.

“I want to see the golem,” Fuji said finally, disconnecting from the conversation. Ryouma tagged along, waving absently to Yukimura and Kirihara. Mostly to Yukimura.

They advanced up the stairs, past people talking in low voices. Almost everyone had Shiraishi’s discovery on their minds, uttering about how cool or how to destroy it. Ryouma was definitely interested in it, if his interest wasn’t there before.

Up on the balcony, they approached Atobe, much to Fuji’s despair, as his footsteps slowed. Atobe swung around to greet them, his lips curling deviously into a smile.

“So you came after all,” Atobe said. Ryouma didn’t like the tone of his voice one bit. He let it show from the weary expression he wore. “Fashionably late?”

“You told us six,” Fuji said.

“It must have misprinted.” Atobe feigned innocence. Ryouma sucked in on his cheek, biting the inside of his mouth to avoid saying something snarky. He wanted to. “Regardless, you have arrived just in time for the grand unveiling.”

“Yukimura already told me,” Fuji said, joining Atobe against the banister. Coolly, Atobe adjusted himself to be facing Fuji. Despite their close proximity, they did not have the air of friends. _Predator and prey_ , Ryouma had thought earlier. He wondered how true it really was. But more so, who was who.

“Yukimura should learn to shut up and stop ruining my surprises,” Atobe said, voice raising.

“Where’s Shiraishi?”

“Getting ready to show you his findings,” Atobe said mysteriously. Soon after, the lights in the room dimmed, turning the room moody and quiet as people gathered at the edges of balconies, surrounding a platform Ryouma hadn’t even noticed before. On it, there was something large, covered in a white sheet. And beside it, two forms Ryouma knew were Shiraishi, and the other a likely apprentice.

A spotlight flickered to life, illuminating the stage. Immediately, Ryouma was struck with secondhand embarrassment. The two men on stage - one, tall and blonde, arm wrapped in suspicious bandages, and the other, boyish and smiling wide - were posed, on their knees with their arms raised to the covered golem. Ryouma felt that, if he hadn’t known what was underneath, this performance would be less embarrassing. The shorter man did a flip as the blonde man spoke.

“While Kin-chan and I-” Ryouma now knew Shiraishi Kuranosuke. “-were in South America, traversing the rain forest and mountainous terrain of the unknown-” Kin-chan was whooping, in some attempt to hype up the audience. “-we came across many dangerous, magic infused places. New plants to study, new rocks to categorize, new people from which to learn techniques-” Now Shiraishi, in an act of showmanship, was striding across the stage with a large smile on his face, gazing out lovingly at the audience, even blowing a kiss to an unsuspecting woman in the crowd. “-but. Most awesomely-” Kin-chan stopped his hooting for a moment to stand on the opposite side of the stage, taking grasp of his side of the sheet covering the golem while Shiraishi took the other side. “-was _this_.”

They pulled in sync with one another. Practiced. The fact that they had practiced made it all the more embarrassing, somehow. The sheet came off easily, revealing beneath it a man made of stone.

The audience was uproarious in confusion, awe, and most of all, surprise. Most of the people there - all witches and warlocks, supposedly - had likely never seen something like this before. Neither had Ryouma, technically, but the surprise was lessened because he knew what it was going to be beforehand.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” Atobe said, voice full of something sinister. Fuji and Ryouma both looked to him, sharing the same concern of what Atobe was planning.

Shiraishi was recounting how he had discovered the golem down on the stage. “...together, myself and Kin-chan braved temples that have been abandoned in the deepest rainforests, dodged dart traps loaded with poison that would kill any man with just a prick, leapt over pits filled with snakes or worse,” Shiraishi and Kin-chan, in an practiced act, swooned on stage recounting the memory. Ryouma grimaced. Shiraishi’s tone turned low now, and he spread his arms outwards. “Then. At the heart of the deepest, most sealed temple...we found it. The discovery of all discoveries.” The room’s attention returned to the golem, who, Ryouma had noticed, hadn’t been moving. “An ancient _golem_.”

Shiraishi began to pace, his excitement breaking the routine they had practiced, clearly, but Kin-chan was just as excitedly bouncing now. “By studying ancient culture, we as a community can continue to advance with new knowledge, refining ancient techniques that have been centuries forgotten.” He drew an arm up to the golem, touching it’s stony arm with a gentle caress. “And it begins, with an ancient golem, who,” he paused. For dramatic effect, clearly. “Still works from ancient spells alone.”

That certainly got a reaction from everyone. Ryouma supposed finding something ancient, something ancient and _magical_ , was rare. Even rarer was to find something that still worked as it had thousands of years before. Ryouma was mildly impressed, past the theatrics that Shiraishi and his helper had shown.

“Is he going to activate it?” Fuji asked.

“Of course he is,” Atobe said. That sinister tone of voice was still there, dripping from every word. “I asked him to.”

“Now,” Shiraishi said, voice carrying cleanly across the murmurs of the crowd. “I will demonstrate how it works.”

He began to repeat an ancient language Ryouma didn’t recognize, but Fuji seemed vaguely aware of what he was chanting. Kin-chan was, again, raising his arms to the crowd in an attempt to hype them up, in time to what Shiraishi spoke. It felt a little inappropriate, but Ryouma could see Kirihara down on the floor cheering along with Kin-chan.

After the incantation ended, the Golem began to move.

It was sluggish at first, it’s pieces moving slowly, then more steadily, it stood. It was large, even in Atobe’s high roofed party room. It had steely eyes and a harsh expression chiseled into its stony face. Every movement it made was stressed by the sound of rock grinding against rock, but no dust fell from the rocky surfaces as they ground together. Ryouma was awed, as was much of the crowd. His hands gripped the banister subconsciously, amazed by the magical feat he was watching with his own two eyes. A being created entirely from stone, moving. It was made less magical by Kin-chan and Shiraishi doing jazz hands down on the stage, but he made a point to ignore them.

“Not only does he move, but he still answers to commands.” Shiraishi turned to the golem, gazing up at it. “Golem. Lift me.”

With a slow, but easy, movement, the golem lowered its hand and allowed Shiraishi to jump into it’s palm. Then it lifted. Slowly, with the palm flat, as if it was conscious that it was holding a person. It was incredible. It brought Shiraishi back to the stage when he commanded, and Shiraishi hopped off easily, his red shoes - Ryouma had apparently pretended they didn’t exist before - tapping noisily on the stage as he landed.

Ryouma, strangely enamored by the creature, did not see Atobe before he felt Atobe, whisking past him briskly with a waft of perfumed air left behind. He and Fuji watched as Atobe began to descend the stairs to their right, almost missing what Shiraishi was now saying.

“As you can see, we can use this ancient magical technology to refine modern magics, become even more masterful in the craft than we-”

“There will be no studying of the golem,” Atobe said.

He had joined Shiraishi on stage, catching him off guard. Within seconds, Atobe had gathered the attention of the partygoers, his suit, decorated with sequins, glittering in the spotlight. Despite Shiraishi’s mismatched colors, even he appeared dull compared to Atobe.

“I will be purchasing this golem,” Atobe said to the slowly realizing Shiraishi beside him, as well as the guests, “for myself.”

There was another uproar in the crowd - this time, it was more negative than positive. The inquisitive nature of most was replaced with an angrier one.

“You can’t just-” Shiraishi began, before Atobe interrupted.

“Oh, I can.” Atobe’s eyes glittered dangerously under the lights. Of course he could - he had many dollars, after all. Too many, if you asked Ryouma.

Fuji was tense beside Ryouma, who likely matched his composure. Ryouma barely knew the man, but he knew enough. Fuji had a look of understanding on his face that the angry partygoers around them didn’t seem to have. Ryouma had a feeling he was beginning to understand too.

“I will fund your excursions out of the country from now on,” Atobe was saying, his smile carved into his face. “And you will be free of any charge. All in exchange for this golem.”

“But…” Shiraishi seemed torn, and honestly, it was a good deal. But from how Shiraishi had spoken - or at least played up - about his travels, he took it very seriously. He seemed like a man of adventure, uninterested in money and more interested in the knowledge gained.

“You will find more golems.” Atobe was lying, likely, but Shiraishi seemed to be eating up Atobe’s wishy-washy promises. “I am not trying to stop progress,” he assured the audience, who was turning against him quietly. “I am trying to stop anything dangerous from happening. And this,” he gestured to the golem, who stared at him solemnly, “is dangerous.”

There was a murmur of agreement. Fuji said, his tight expression falling, “He’s doing it so Tezuka will come back.”

Ryouma glanced at Fuji. “What?”

“Atobe with a rock giant under his control?” Fuji said incredulously, laughing to himself. “Of course Tezuka will come back for that. To stop him from doing anything stupid.” He paused, eyes narrowing down at Atobe as the sparkling man sized Shiraishi up. “Tezuka’s the only one he listens to.”

“Why would Tezuka,” Ryouma said carefully, sizing up Fuji’s expression calculatively, “care about a golem, but not care about the cat you’ve turned into a man?”

Fuji’s smile was wry. “He likes cats.”

 

* * *

 

Atobe, of course, got what he wanted.

The golem was holding him up obediently as he drank wine from a dainty glass between his fingers, his legs dangling over the edge of the golem’s palm, high above the masses of the party. Fuji and Ryouma were ready to get out, ignoring the cries of Mizuki trying to get their attention, and not finding Yukimura or Kirihara anywhere. They were, however, stopped by Shiraishi, who was standing outside of the mansion, arms crossed. He was staring up at the sky, which had turned dark after all these hours, with a pensive expression.

“Regretting your decision?” Fuji asked.

“Fuji!” Shiraishi exclaimed. He took Fuji in for a large hug, and Ryouma caught sight of the bandages on his arm again. He wondered what was up with that and also why all of Fuji’s friends were so strange. They broke apart and Shiraishi gave Fuji a wide smile, much like the one he had been wearing on the stage a mere hour beforehand. “It’s been too long!”

“You’ve been travelling so much, it was impossible to catch you,” Fuji said.

“Who is your friend?” Shiraishi turned his attention to Ryouma, who nodded silently at him. A shocked expression stretched across Shiraishi’s face, and he turned to Fuji, mouth agape. “An apprentice?!”

“You’re the first person to correctly guess that, and not assume we were dating,” Fuji said humorously.

Shiraishi laughed along. “Please! It was about time you got an apprentice - I’ve been waiting for years!”

“Yours seemed awfully chipper tonight,” Fuji continued, bringing the topic back to the night’s events. “How does he feel about selling Atobe your breakthrough findings?”

Shiraishi’s smiley demeanor drooped slightly. “Ah, well. You know Kin-chan. He’s always seeing the bright side of things.”

As if summoned at the mention of his name, the bouncy red-head Ryouma had watched on stage appeared, keeping a distance away from Shiraishi, as if wary of him, but was just as excited and bubbly as he was before a crowd. It hadn’t all been acting, after all.

“Shiraishi!” He said, voice loud to Ryouma’s ears. “You disappeared! I thought you had left without me!”

“Leave you with Atobe? A good idea.” Kin-chan paled, and Shiraishi laughed, waving aside the threat. “Never!”

“I’m Kintarou,” Kin-chan, Kintarou, introduced himself to Ryouma, smile wide. Ryouma reciprocated the handshake a bit cautiously, as if interacting with a wild animal. An overly hyperactive wild animal. “People call me Kin-chan!”

“Cute,” Ryouma said. “I’m Ryouma Echizen. People tend to call me Ryouma.”

“Nice to meet you!” The way he said it made it feel like it really was nice to meet him. Ryouma’s eyebrows arched.

Fuji and Shiraishi had continued to speak of Atobe, and his purchase. Kintarou was pulling Ryouma away, despite him wanting to hear this juicy gossip. Instead, he honed in on the redhead. “Are you okay with Atobe buying your golem?”

“My golem?” Kintarou looked surprised. “It’s not mine, it’s Shiraishi’s!”

“Still,” Ryouma stressed. Kintarou had pulled him even further away from Fuji, and Ryouma willed Fuji to save him. “It was your discovery together, and Atobe just bought it instead of letting others to learn from it?”

“Atobe,” Kintarou said, face serious, “is very rich.”

Well, that was true.

“And our expeditions,” Kintarou continued, nudging his toe against a rock in the grass in the place they had walked on the large lawn. Ryouma could see the valet driving Fuji’s car up the drive - freedom, soon. “Are very expensive.”

“So you’re willing to give up something so amazing for Atobe’s bribes?” Ryouma understood it, but found the way Atobe dealt with things underhanded and unnecessary. If he wanted Tezuka to come back to Japan so badly, he should just call him. But, to any explorer like Shiraishi and Kintarou, the promise of full financial support had strong persuasive power.

“Yep!” was all Kintarou said, chipper and excited as he was before, before Fuji called for Ryouma, and Shiraishi for Kintarou.


	14. Chapter 14

Kawamura recognized Ryouma before Ryouma recognized him. They had only met once before, but Kawamura seemed to have a mind for faces. He called out Ryouma’s name from the grocery store he worked in, waving him inside. It was a rainy day, and Ryouma didn’t have an umbrella.

“Jeez, you’re drenched!” Kawamura sighed as Ryouma stepped inside, shaking himself off like a dog would. “Where’s your umbrella?”

“I forgot it at home,” Ryouma said sullenly. He hadn’t actually forgotten, but instead Momoshiro had misplaced theirs, forgetting the umbrella they shared at work the night before. Ryouma had been pissed, but Momoshiro, despite what he said, had convincing puppy dog eyes. 

“I’ll lend you one!” Kawamura said, exuding friendliness and helpfulness. It was a little dizzying - only a few days before had Ryouma seen the extent of Atobe’s seedy nature, and here he was being aided by the nicest guy in all of Japan. Probably. He was definitely one of the nicest.

As Kawamura jogged off somewhere into the store, likely to the employees only area in the back, Ryouma looked around absently. He had never gone grocery shopping for Fuji, and in the apartment, Momoshiro took care of it, so he had never actually been inside this place, despite walking by it so often to drop off deliveries. It was attached to a small cafe that was surprisingly busy for a rainy day. From where Ryouma stood, dripping onto the mat by the door, he could see a boy behind the counter, long hair pushed back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. Ryouma wondered if children were legally allowed to work in Japan.

“Ever heard of the Taichi Cafe?” Kawamura’s voice surprised him. He turned to the man, who was looking over at the cafe with a proud expression. “It’s pretty popular around here. Maybe you haven’t, though, since Fujiko rarely goes out to eat!”

“No, I haven’t,” Ryouma confirmed, turning back to stare across the store into the open cafe. Maybe it’s popularity explained how bustling it seemed, while the grocery store was rather empty. 

“You should go get a coffee!” Kawamura said, clapping Ryouma good-naturedly on the back. “Tell Dan I sent you over, and he’ll give you half off. He’s a good kid.”

Ryouma was going to ask why Kawamura didn’t just walk over with him, but he was on the clock, and he was sure that Kawamura wasn’t exactly a rule breaker by nature. Taking the umbrella Kawamura offered him with a quiet thanks, Ryouma headed over to the cafe, curiosity getting the better of him. Fuji could wait. 

The cafe had a warm atmosphere, with dark green plush-seated booths lining the walls and small, round tables intricately designed scattered in between, two chairs at each. The lighting inside was surprisingly natural, unlike the grocery store with it’s yellowing incandescents. There was a skylight on a sloped ceiling, splattered with rain. The cafe building itself had been it’s own building before attaching to the grocery store, Ryouma assumed, given the different style of architecture and low roof. The floor beneath him was a marbled tile, a warm tan, that gave the place the feeling of a cozy kitchen. The decoration didn’t seem to follow a theme - posters, embroideries, photographs of people young and old; all were hanging on the two flanking walls of the booths. Some of the posters - heavy rock bands he recognized from America, particularly - were surprising and stark beside photos of an elderly couple feeding each other forkfuls of shortcake. Up on the furthest wall, above a chalkboard-written menu of drinks and food they served, was a sign -  _ Taichi Cafe _ . 

“Welcome!” The boy with the ponytail said when he saw Ryouma, standing in the opening between the grocery store and the cafe, damp with rain. 

Up close, the boy was not a boy at all. He was a man, around Ryouma’s age if he had to guess, but much more youthful. Ryouma still had a lean, muscular body from when he played tennis in high school, and he thankfully kept up exercise by running Fuji’s errands. The other man, however, was thin, and shorter than him. Ryouma didn’t consider himself to be tall, as much as it pissed him off, so he couldn’t imagine what being of the same height as this man would be like. He had large eyes that watched him eagerly, and a petite face that was framed by the wisps of hair that didn’t get pulled back entirely by the ponytail. Overall, he was very cute, if Ryouma had been asked. 

But nobody was asking him. “Kawamura sent me over.”

“Oh!” The man looked surprised. His expression was exaggerated, but it wasn’t for an effect. It’s just how he emoted. “You know Kawamura?”

“Oh, well, we’ve met once before-”

But the other man was already skipping off to the back of the shop, his ponytail bouncing against his neck. Ryouma wandered closer to the counter, gazing through the glass at the small pastries that were aligned there. They were intricate and small, almost definitely the handiwork of the cute man. It suited him.

The man returned, his hand encircling the wrist of another. The other man was huge, and not in a muscular way, either. It was near inhuman the way he hulked through the cafe, his wide eyes focusing in on Ryouma with a glare. He was like a gigantic beast being led, daintily, by a man who stood at five foot three.

“Maybe you know each other, if you know Kawamura!” The cute man was saying.

“I’ve never seen him before,” the monster said.

“Um,” Ryouma said. They both looked at him, and he awkwardly waved the umbrella in his hand around. “I’m not really close to him. He’s friends with my boss.”

“Oh!” The man looked embarrassed now. His face was pink as he apologized. “I’m sorry, I jumped to conclusions. Do you work for Fuji, then?”

The beast’s eyebrows rose.

“Yes,” Ryouma said.

“You’re Ryouma!” The cute man said, face brightening again. He exited from behind the counter, pushing aside a small hinged door. He came in front of Ryouma, his smile wide as he grabbed Ryouma’s free hand. “Kawamura mentioned you! I’m Dan Taichi! I own this cafe.” He paused, eyes flickering around Ryouma’s face, then he gestured to the man behind the counter, with his gray hair and angular face. A scar ran up from his neck, across his lips, and ended beneath his left eye. “That’s Akutsu! We’re,” Dan’s voice dropped a decibel so that he was whispering, “ _ dating. _ ”

“You don’t need to tell everyone you meet,” Akutsu said, voice angry but face tinted slightly red, betraying his tough composure.

“But I’m so happy about it!”

“That’s great,” Ryouma said, “for you two.”

“It is!” Dan said. His happiness was only a little bit annoying, and a lot bit infectious. He allowed himself to be given the grand tour of the cafe by the man, despite them being strangers who had only just introduced themselves.

Ryouma got the full history without even asking for it. Dan and Akutsu met in middle school. Akutsu was three years older than him. Akutsu dropped out of high school and got a job. Dan went to college, got a degree in business. Akutsu, surprisingly, learned to like baking. Dan moved in with Akutsu, and together they opened the cafe. Two years later, the grocery store was being built, and they were offered a partnership. 

“Now we’re here!” Dan said after walking Ryouma through the cafe. Everything Dan pointed to on the walls, he attributed to a point in time where something had happened in he and Akutsu’s relationship. It would have been cute, if it hadn’t been so sickly sweet. Akutsu watched them apprehensively from behind the counter the whole time, his lips drawn tightly, arms crossed tensely across his chest, like he was ready to spring over the counter and fight Ryouma at any moment. 

Ryouma pointed at Akutsu, maybe a bit rudely, given Akutsu’s reaction to being pointed at. “Does he make the pastries?”

“Yes!” Dan said, lovingly. “I’m no good at cooking, much less baking...I can barely scramble eggs!”

“Nice work,” Ryouma said to Akutsu, who grunted in reply.

After being sweet talked by Dan into buying two danishes, an eclair (which Dan insisted Fuji would love), and a to-go cup of coffee, Ryouma was finally free. As Dan wrapped each of the pastries with precise folds, he gazed at Akutsu, who was still giving him a hard glare, as he had been the entire time he had been there. 

Ryouma couldn’t help but say, “Do you have a problem?”

Dan didn’t even flinch at the question, but Ryouma saw Akutsu’s eyes flicker to the small man before returning to Ryouma. “Just think it’s interesting you’re working for Fuji.” There was a pause, filled with silence apart from the crinkling paper under Dan’s hands as he worked. “He hasn’t had anyone work for him in years.”

“I’ve been told that,” Ryouma said.

“Are you fucking him?” Akutsu asked, brutish and curt. Dan’s gaze snapped to Akutsu, his hands still on the eclair.

Ryouma rolled his eyes. “No, and you’re about the seven hundredth person in this town to ask that. Should I print a shirt that says ‘not Fuji Shusuke’s boyfriend’ on it?”

“Then you’re learning his craft?” Akutsu asked.

Ryouma hadn’t expected this odd couple to be aware of the magic of town. He supposed, this being a magically central town, it wasn’t necessarily a secret who practiced what. “Yes,” Ryouma said. He wondered, secretly, why Fuji had never taken an apprentice, and why him taking one now was a big deal to seemingly strangers.

“You’re learning blood magic.” It wasn’t a question this time.

He felt himself go cold. Dan was humming a happy song as he snapped the plastic lid of the coffee onto the cup. “How do you know about that?” Ryouma asked, distantly. Fuji had acted so secretive about it. He didn’t even want to tell Ryouma about it when they first met, apprentice to master.

Akutsu didn’t answer, because Dan had finished wrapping everything up into a neat little bag with their cafe’s logo printed on it. “Come back soon!” Dan said, closing his eyes as he grinned. Unaware, and blissful to what pain Akutsu’s knowledge was causing Ryouma. Ryouma snatched the bag from his hand and left quickly, pushing Kawamura’s umbrella upwards as he exited the shop, the bells at the door dinging chirpily.

 

* * *

 

Ryouma wasn’t sure how to bring it up to Fuji. He felt it was taboo, somehow - Fuji still, even after Ryouma knew, rarely spoke of his craft. Ryouma only knew what Fuji let on, and knew that, deep down, Fuji was practicing forbidden spells. He kept up appearances, but who knew what went on when no one was around? Especially not Tezuka?

But Ryouma was naturally curious. The tall, dangerous man, Akutsu, did not strike Ryouma as a witch, or a warlock. From being in a community of them, he had seen how they held themselves, and their craft - with pride for their work. Akutsu had felt more like a beast, kept tame only by a delicate chain around his neck. 

He knew that Fuji practiced blood magic, and it was confusing that Fuji had never mentioned him.

“Why do you keep so many secrets from me?” Ryouma asked, instead of being direct.

Fuji appeared surprised at the question, his focus on the small blade he was using to trim a border from a photo wavering. He gave Ryouma a steadying stare. “What do you mean?”

“You won’t tell me about your magic, you won’t tell me what the deal with Eiji is, or why Atobe bought that golem,” Ryouma listed, feeling like he was babbling, listing things that weren’t necessarily important to his learning, but it was. “Why Tezuka lets you do blood magic.”

“Where is this coming from?” Fuji said, setting the blade down on his counter, appearing genuinely confused by Ryouma’s sudden interrogation. “I’m not keeping secrets from you. You just don’t ask me anything.”

“Who’s Akutsu?” Ryouma finally asked.

Fuji’s composure shifted away, his face paling. He leaned forward on the counter on his elbows, slowly lacing his fingers together, and resting his mouth against them. “He...works at the cafe next to Kawamura’s grocery store.”

“That’s not all.” Ryouma wasn’t going to rest until he got the story from Fuji. “He knows you do blood magic. And so does his boyfriend, presumably, considering he said it where he could hear him.”

A clock tick-tocked in the distance, and a car rolled past outside. It was stiflingly quiet as Fuji’s eyes raked the countertop in front of him, and Ryouma watched his master think of an explanation. “Akutsu Jin is dangerous,” Fuji finally answered. “He knows I do blood magic because Tezuka, Atobe and I took away his craft.” A beat of more silence. “By force.”

“Dangerous?” Ryouma almost didn’t believe him. “He’s making macarons in a checker print apron on main street.”

“He wasn’t a witch, or a warlock, or anything in the community,” Fuji said. He sounded a little helpless, remembering it. “He was just a monster with power that he didn’t know how to control. He was going to kill people, so we.” Fuji pressed the side of his hand against his lips. “We couldn’t let him kill that poor kid.”

“Dan?”

“He’s totally oblivious. You probably saw that from being alone with them with five minutes,” Fuji said. His hands unclenched and he reached over, slowly, to take the eclair from the bag Ryouma had dropped onto the counter. “Akutsu...I don’t think is a bad guy. But he definitely resents us. He resents Kawamura for being friends with me.”

“Is that why you don’t go to the grocery store?” Fuji didn’t answer, taking a bite from the eclair. Ryouma’s face flattened. “And why he comes here instead.” Ryouma frowned, watching Fuji. His master was so frustrating. “If he was so dangerous...why didn’t you just kill him? Tezuka’s supposed to do that, isn’t he?”

“Tezuka doesn’t  _ kill  _ people,” the words were choked out of Fuji. It was the first time Ryouma had seen Fuji so restless, so  _ angry _ . It was kind of upsetting, in a way. “He strips witches of their magical powers, turns them into regular people. The ones that die...they’re the ones that fight back.”

“Did you fight back?”

“He can’t fight me,” Fuji shot back instantly.

Ryouma settled back in his chair. “So you nullified Akutsu’s magical powers? And he let you?”

“He wasn’t himself.” Fuji’s voice was unsteady. He sighed, clearly troubled, considering he set the eclair down without finishing it. “He had magical prowess, but instead of harnessing it properly, it overcame him entirely, and he was barely conscious when we found him.” A look of fright, years old, flashed on Fuji’s face briefly. “He was just eighteen.”

Ryouma did the math. “So were you, then?”

“He’s gotten more relaxed, now that he knows he can’t hurt Dan anymore,” Fuji said, the look of fear from before gone, a more neutral one taking it’s place. “We helped him, but I don’t blame him for holding a grudge. And you,” Fuji said, reaching over to tap Ryouma on the nose, which startled him. “Shouldn’t hold it against me that I’d rather not see him. It wasn’t a pleasant situation for any of us.”

Reaching up to rub his nose, Ryouma scowled. “I do, anyway.”

“We can’t all be perfect,” Fuji said, finishing the eclair before returning to his work, as if he hadn’t just lost his cool. “Next time you see Dan, tell him the pastries were good.”

“Akutsu makes them.”

Fuji’s hands didn’t pause this time. “Then tell him instead.”


	15. Chapter 15

Ryouma was not expecting to be shaken awake fervently by Momoshiro at four AM on a Tuesday, but here they were, in the dark of the room, the bed squeaking underneath them as Momoshiro shook Ryouma for dear life, and Karupin meowed angrily at the disturbance.

“Ryouma!!!” Momoshiro yelled.

After a few bleary moments of Ryouma not understanding what the hell was going on, he thrashed his arms around until he grabbed hold of Momoshiro’s forearms to force him to stop. They stared at each other in the dim light of the room for a few heated seconds before Ryouma said: “What.”

“That guy I tell you about all the time? The Viper?” Momoshiro said, almost all in one breath. Ryouma nodded, eyes squinting in the dark. “I had some of his drink at work, and it’s making me feel woozy!”

“So?” Ryouma didn’t see the point of this.

“I think his roommate is slipping dastardly potions into his drinks!”

 

* * *

 

There was no real reason to believe Momoshiro’s outlandish claim, but Momoshiro now had experience being under the influence of potions, so he took it to heart. Well, to heart and with a truckload of salt, but he considered it.

“Is his roommate a potionmaster?”

“He’s always making Kaidoh-” Kaidoh, it turned out, was the Viper’s real name, “-these drinks, and Kaidoh drinks them obediently. They’re this thick liquid like that one you... _I_ drank.” There was a small silence between them. They hadn’t mentioned the potion since then, something awkward grown between them. Ryouma was in no hurry, and wanted to let Momoshiro work out those feelings - outlasting the potion’s effects - on his own. Though he did miss the hand in his hair, and the kiss had been pretty nice.

Anyway.

“H-he doesn’t even question it,” Momoshiro continued, clearing his throat. “I don’t think Kaidoh even knows about the whole magic thing, which makes this even more devious!”

Ryouma, unversed in brewery, considered Mizuki’s situation with Yuuta, and it didn’t seem too farfetched that a random, perfectly normal human could be taken advantage of by a witch easily. “Maybe you’re on to something,” Ryouma said, staring intently at Momoshiro, then at his abdomen. “Do you feel sick at all? Or like...different?”

“I only had a sip, so I felt sick for a couple hours, but it was _intense_ ,” Momoshiro said, leaning in close with wide eyes. “Kaidoh drinks the whole thing!”

“Why would he drink something that made him feel sick?” Ryouma asked. It didn’t add up.

“He really likes his roommate,” Momoshiro explained weakly.

Ryouma hummed, tapping at the table. He and Momoshiro had moved to the kitchen, seated on their designated sides of the table. Beneath it, their knees interlocked, because it was too small for two grown men to sit across from each other. Ryouma knocked his knees against Momo’s, catching the older man off guard. “You’ll have to get some of Kaidoh’s drink, so we can investigate it.”

“No way will Kaidoh give me any,” Momoshiro said. Their knees were brushing. Ryouma fought not to focus on it too strongly. “It’s his, and he doesn’t like sharing. Especially not with me. He’s a huge jerk.”

“Then how are we going to test it?”

“You could come and take some?”

Ryouma sputtered. “So a stranger taking his drink is more plausible than his coworker?!”

Momoshiro was deathly serious. “You underestimate how much we hate each other.”

Ryouma bit his tongue as to not say, _you obviously don’t hate him too much if you want to save his life, potentially_. Ryouma sucked in a breath, then released it in a heaving sigh, resting against the table.

“I’m going to be so tired at work tomorrow,” he muttered into his arm.

 

* * *

 

Momoshiro, not exactly the master of plans, brought Ryouma with him to work. Which, as Ryouma found out when they arrived, was thirty minutes before the convenience store actually began it’s night shift, because Momoshiro had to take stock in the backroom first.

“What am I supposed to do?” Ryouma asked, astonished at this botched plan. It was ten PM, and the sun had long gone. The only light on the street was the interior lights of the convenient store leaking out through the glass entrance and the orange street lamps. “Just stand out here in the dark?”

“You’re a witch,” Momoshiro said. When Ryouma flattened him with a glare, he tried again. “You’re a big dude.”

“I’m not _that_ big.”

Momoshiro was clearly disturbed by the plan not working either. “I mean, you can’t just come inside! That’d ruin the plan!”

“I’m not standing out here in the dark!”

“Oh, fine!” Momoshiro grabbed Ryouma’s hand and dragged him through the automatic doors. There was a man flipping through magazines, and a bored looking man standing at the cash register, doodling something onto a pad of paper and obnoxiously chewing a piece of gum.

The man looked up, eyebrows raised in annoyance. “You were almost late, Momo.”

“Sorry, Marui,” Momoshiro bowed in apology. He still hadn’t let go of Ryouma’s hand, which the redhead, Marui, had noticed.

“Your boyfriend?” Then, a few seconds later, his eyes widened. “Ry-”

“Gotta go clock in,” Momoshiro said quickly, dragging Ryouma along with him, even though Ryouma knew this was very much against the rules. A non-employee being brought in the backroom...it was Forbidden. But there he was, getting dragged through a drab office to a calendar. Momoshiro dropped his hand to pen in his arrival, and then, afterwards, sighed dramatically. Ryouma felt out of place, looking around the room investigatively. He had never once wondered what kind of place Momoshiro worked, but now that he knew, he was minutely interested. It seemed pretty boring, but Momoshiro never sounded bored when he spoke of it, so maybe it would get more exciting. Ryouma had doubts.

The door behind them opened, and in came another person. Ryouma didn’t recognize them, obviously, but Momoshiro’s physical reaction to his presence told him enough to know that this was Kaidoh.

“Viper,” Momoshiro said venomously.

“Don’t call me that,” Kaidoh said, voice just as poisonous. He turned to Ryouma, eyes narrowed. “Who’s this?”

“R-” Momoshiro started, but Ryouma cut him off.

“Ryouga.”

Momoshiro’s eyebrows raised high. Ryouma reached out, grasping Kaidoh’s hand in his own in a firm handshake. “I’m new here.”

There was no way this was going to work. The seconds ticked on, with Kaidoh gazing at Ryouma suspiciously.

“Jackal didn’t mention anyone new.”

“I’m,” Ryouma shot a look at Momoshiro for the briefest of moments, “really new.”

Another few seconds stretched on. Ryouma analyzed Kaidoh as they stood there, staring, waiting for the other to step down first. Kaidoh had full lips and angular cheekbones, and wasn’t a bad looking guy. But he had a mean scowl permanently affixed to his face, it seemed, which soured the illusion of handsomeness. He understood why Momoshiro always called him punchable in retold stories, because, in all honesty, he was.

“Okay,” Kaidoh finally relented, pushing the bag on his shoulder up further. It was a gym bag, Ryouma noted, although it didn’t appear that Kaidoh had just been there. Maybe after the shift was over. He shoved past Momoshiro, entirely bodily, which a shoulder hard against Momoshiro’s, to sign in.

Momoshiro made a bitchy reply and then all but shoved Ryouma out of the room. He dragged him down a short hallway, and then pressed him against a wall, staring down at him incredulously.

“Ryouga?”

“It’s my brothers name,” Ryouma said simply.

“I didn’t know you had a brother!”

Ryouma shifted in place where Momoshiro had him pinned. “Well, tonight I’ll pretend to be him, and it’ll be like you’re meeting him.”

“This is not going to work,” Momoshiro all but exclaimed, before hushing his voice again. “Kaidoh is stupid, but Marui isn’t. Well, Marui’s kind of stupid, but he’s easily bribed with bubblegum.”

“I hope your paychecks big enough to bribe him, then,” Ryouma sniffed, laying a hand flat against Momoshiro’s chest and pushing him back. He glanced down at Momoshiro’s shirt, then his frown deepened. “Do I need a shirt, too?”

“Oh, shit,” Momoshiro cursed, realizing that he probably _did._ Just as they were about to create another plan, how to get an extra shirt, Kaidoh was rounding the corner. They split apart like they were electrocuted, and Kaidoh barely gave them a second glance, or a glare, in Momoshiro’s case.

“I brought the new guy a shirt,” Kaidoh muttered, tossing it through the air. Ryouma caught it easily, thanking Kaidoh with a mumble, and the snake-like man exited, leaving Momoshiro and Ryouma in the small hallway they had occupied.

“He really is stupid,” Ryouma said.

 

* * *

 

This was going about as well as they expected. Marui totally didn’t buy their story, but seemed like a good sport about it, a man who liked a good joke, and also a man who enjoyed his bubblegum, and the twenty packs of his favorite brand Momoshiro had bought him.

“ _Ryouga_.” Marui said as they stood around together as Momoshiro and Kaidoh wandered off to do their assigned jobs - stocking, cleaning, and general maintenance, it seemed - and thus, leaving Ryouma with the person whose support was keeping this lie in place. “What made you want to work here?”

“Experience,” Ryouma said, not looking at the redhead.

“You know Momo well?”

“Not really.”

“He dragged you in,” Marui said, leaning closer, the fruity scent of his bubblegum invading Ryouma’s space. “You’re lucky Kaidoh didn’t see that.”

“Would he have noticed?” Ryouma asked lightly, allowing a sidelong glance at Marui, who was all but leaning entirely in his space, staring at him wide eyed.

“Oh, definitely. He’s obsessed with Momo, and Momo’s obsessed with him. They totally hate each other. It’s really funny.”

Ryouma felt his breathing get a little funny, and he knew Marui noticed.

“Are you _sure_ you’re not Ryouma?” His voice rose. “ _Ryouga?_ ”

“Nope,” Ryouma said, pushing away from the counter and towards the direction Momoshiro and Kaidoh had headed. He was here for whatever supposed potion Momoshiro believed Kaidoh was being tricked into drinking, not to be needled by an annoying redhead. And wherever Kaidoh was, the drink was, since the man hadn’t left anything with Marui before disappearing.

When he found them, they were exchanging tense words in the store room over a box of bags of snack food. Ryouma wasn’t fluent in Japanese treats, but they looked like potato chips on the packaging.

“ _Your_ foot got in the way,” Momoshiro was saying. “On purpose.”

“You’re just a clumsy oaf,” Kaidoh shot back. “I didn’t _trip_ you.”

“You did!”

“Did not!”

“Need any help?” Ryouma asked, announcing his presence, perhaps, too late, because for a few moments, Kaidoh and Momoshiro’s bared teeth and glares didn’t waver. Then Momoshiro dropped it first, looking over at Ryouma like he had forgotten he had come with him. On a _mission._

Kaidoh looked over a few seconds later, his eyes dragging violently from Momoshiro and transferring their heat to Ryouma. Ryouma held up his hands, and, willing his best impression of his brother, said:

“Dude, it’s uncool to fight over something so trivial. How ‘bout we go back out there, and eat an orange to calm down?”

Kaidoh looked slightly weirded out by the suggestion, and Momoshiro looked like he was about to burst into laughter. Ryouma fought the heat from rising to his face.

“Uh...sure,” Kaidoh said, voice uncertain as he walked past Ryouma, carrying himself a box of candy to restock the shelves with. He cast a lingering look at him, eyebrows knit, before letting the stock room door shut behind him. Ryouma’s heart thundered in his ears, and he groaned as Momoshiro’s mask slipped.

“Stop laughing.”

“O...O-orange,” was all Momoshiro could manage around his snickering.

“It’s kind of my brothers’ thing.”

After a few more moments of Momoshiro’s shoulders quivering, he finally looked back up at Ryouma. “Kaidoh’s bottle should be in the back room. He puts it there when he’s stocking.”

“Where you guys signed in?”

“Yes.”

Ryouma’s escape route. He waved aimlessly over his shoulder, and booked it for the back room.

 

* * *

 

He managed to snag the bottle, perched like a prize, from the desktop just inside the room. Ryouma grabbed it, unscrewed the top, and filled his own cup, which he had brought with him, with a little bit of it. Not a lot - not enough that Kaidoh would notice that someone had stolen part of his drink.

As he poured it, he had to give it to Momoshiro - he hadn’t been lying when he said it had the same consistency as Mizuki’s potion had. It was a thick, green sludge that made Ryouma slightly ill just from looking at it. He couldn’t imagine chugging it, as he imagined Momoshiro had done, like the fool he was.  

With a snap of the cap, Ryouma returned the drink to the desk.

When he turned around, Kaidoh was looking at him, his eyes narrowed. Ryouma jumped, not expecting the other man to be able to creep up with such efficiency. There was a reason Momoshiro called him a snake.

“What are you doing?” He asked, voice bewildered, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Ryouma couldn’t really believe it either. “Uh...I…”

“Did you just take some of my drink?”

“Uh…”

Kaidoh had affixed Ryouma with a steady, cold glare that demanded explanation, but Ryouma’s mind was falling, dangerously, blank.

“I told him that your sports drink would totally pump him up,” a voice sounded from behind Kaidoh. Marui was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, blowing an obnoxiously large bubble with his gum. Ryouma’s fight or flight instincts were having a straight up world war inside of him as he stared at the other man, wondering what the heck was going on.

Kaidoh looked at Marui, then back to Ryouma. “You go to the gym?” He was, clearly, unimpressed with Ryouma’s fitness as his eyes raked over Ryouma’s form judgmentally.

“I…” Ryouma cleared his throat. “I do a lot of running. And weight lifting.” Technically, he supposed doing heavy lifting for Fuji would count for that somewhat, and doing deliveries did too.

“We were _bonding_ ,” Marui said, voice on the brink of breaking into laughter, “and I mentioned your gross drinks to him, considering how much you live by them.”

Ryouma expected Kaidoh to deny them being gross, but Kaidoh didn’t even react, his eyes still stony on Ryouma. “You could have asked first,” he said.

“I could have,” Ryouma agreed.

“If you like it,” he finally said, the aggressive stillness of his shoulders melting away, eyebrows raised. “I can ask Inui to make you some next time you’re here.”

Ryouma was never planning on coming back. “Oh, sure. Great. I’d love that.”

 

* * *

 

After that exchange, Ryouma had feigned feeling sick, told Marui loudly to tell Jack - “You mean Jackal?” - that he’d come back tomorrow. Momoshiro had flashed him a thumbs up from where he was filling a display with boxed grape and cheese platters, and Kaidoh didn’t even give him a passing glance as he ran the HELL out of there.

He, deciding this was all Momoshiro’s fault after all, took the bike, and raced home on it. It was nearing two AM, meaning Ryouma had suffered three hours of awkwardness, all for half a plastic cup of a potion, MAYBE. Though it was seeming pretty potion-y, if you asked Ryouma.

He collapsed onto the couch when he finally got home, letting his eyes slip closed for the briefest of moments before willing himself back up, because if he fell asleep on the couch, he would not be happy in the morning. He already wasn’t going to be, but he definitely would not be if he woke up with a neck crick from the armrest.

Pulling the cup of Kaidoh’s drink he had snatched from his bag, he took a good look at it. Through the clear sides of the transportable cup, it looked more like sludge than something actually edible. When he swirled the cup, it moved like molasses. Ryouma couldn’t imagine being actually able to drink it through the top of a standard water bottle. Or at all.

Curious, he popped the top of the cup off and sniffed at it. He immediately regretted it. It smelled, maybe not so surprisingly, about as good as it looked. Whatever was in it, it was DEVIOUS, and clearly evil.

He firmly shut the lid of the cup and put it on the coffee table, staring at it a little incredulously. He shared Momoshiro’s sentiment - he couldn’t believe anyone willingly drank that. Or fell for it, if it was really a tricky potionmaster forcing his roommate to endure true suffering. It just wasn’t right.

 _I have to bring it to Fuji_ , Ryouma thought, opting to leave it on the coffee table overnight as he got up from the couch, fatigue suddenly wearing on him. Fuji, as Ryouma had witnessed before, extremely excitedly, could separate a potion with his magic. Maybe this time, Ryouma could learn how to do it himself.

Well, emphasis on maybe.

 

* * *

 

Fuji took one look at the bottle, raised an eyebrow, and then set it down on his counter.

“Doesn’t look that bad to me.”

Momoshiro, who had tagged along despite being deathly tired upon returning from work, did a spit take from the water Fuji had so graciously offered him. “What?!”

Fuji gracefully wiped the water from his face like it hadn’t just been in Momoshiro’s mouth. “It looks like a nice drink.”

Ryouma knew Fuji had a sadistic streak, but he didn't realize Fuji also was a masochist AND had a death wish. “Smell it,” he told his master, slightly shocked that Fuji wasn’t at all affected.

“I did.”

“Taste it!” Momoshiro cried, clearly not believing Fuji either.

There. Fuji hesitated for a second, but no longer than the blink of an eye. Then he was reaching out and grabbing the cup from where it sat in front of Ryouma and Momoshiro, crowded next to each other. With a firm movement, he unscrewed the top, and took a sip.

A long sip.

Ryouma and Momoshiro stared at him intently, gauging his reaction, waiting for him to maybe combust or start to violently throwing up or maybe cry, or anything. Fuji was staring hard down at the cup he had just drunk from, face perfectly neutral. Momoshiro and Ryouma were almost laying down on the counter from how deeply they were leaning over to stare at him.

Fuji smiled. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s a dangerous poison potion!” Momoshiro cried, waving his hands abstractly at the cup. “It has to be!”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll test it,” he said. Momoshiro nodded, intent on getting to the bottom of this and saving his rival from his evil potion master roommate, and Ryouma nodded because he wanted to see the spell again. Fuji sighed, a sound of amusement, and waved a hand at Momoshiro, signaling him to turn away. Ryouma hadn’t thought much of it before, but Fuji had done this before too. Maybe Momoshiro was squeamish at the sight of blood. Or maybe, Fuji wasn’t supposed to be doing this at all.

Fuji used the box cutter he kept in the drawer under the register to slice a thin opening in his right index finger, and reached out to touch the side of the cup, firmly pressing the entire length of the cut against the plastic. Unlike before, where the drink had been in a bottle, the cup was open at the top. Ryouma watched, awed, as Fuji began to chant quietly and the drink rose into the air on his words alone. Ryouma managed to tear his eyes from the magically spinning drink to stare at Fuji, who wasn’t even looking at what he was doing. His eyes were closed, eyebrows dipped marginally, and shoulders held incredibly still. He looked elegant while he did this, but Ryouma knew Fuji well enough that he could see the discomfort in his posture. He wondered if using the magic hurt him slightly, and if that was why blood magic was considered so taboo - because it damaged the user.

If that were true, Ryouma still was interested. Tezuka sent him to Fuji and not, say, Atobe, for a reason. Beyond saving himself a vengeful Ryouma when they reunited, anyway.

With one final word, the drink fell back to the cup with a thick splash. Momoshiro turned back around as Fuji pulled his hand back and wiped his finger on the fabric of his pants. “So?” Momoshiro asked, looking eager. “What is it? Poison ivy extract? Newt eyes?” He leaned in closer. “Pig’s blood?!”

“Well, there are a couple of bugs,” Fuji said, and Momoshiro looked faint. “But seriously, there’s nothing devious in this - just vegetables and some fruit. Also a little dirt. And I wasn’t joking about the bugs.”

“B-but…” Momoshiro looked unconvinced. Hell, even Ryouma wasn’t completely convinced that Fuji wasn’t just fucking with them. “But it...it has to be a potion!”

“Sorry to burst your bubble,” Fuji said, sounding like he wasn’t sorry at all, “but it’s not.” He paused, then said, “but it’s still a better potion than Mizuki’s.”

 

* * *

 

On their way home, defeated and unbelieving that a normal human man could make such a concoction, they ran across Kaidoh.

“Oh, great,” Ryouma muttered.

Kaidoh was bending a leg out against a bench on their path they took home from Fuji’s shop, looking like he had been on a run moments before stopping to stretch. He looked up, head swooping around quickly, before Momoshiro and Ryouma had time to duck and cover. He stared at them, eyes darting between Momoshiro and then Ryouma, then back again.

“What are you staring at, viper?” Momoshiro said, breaking the awkward silence with a snap.

“Is that the new guy?” Kaidoh ignored him, focusing on Ryouma, which ticked Momoshiro off by the way he shifted in annoyance beside Ryouma. “What are you two doing together?” His eyes shifted down to the cup in Ryouma’s hands. Uh oh, busted. “Is that my juice?”

Ryouma, brilliant mastermind, said, “Uh...yes.”

Kaidoh turned away from them, stretching his arms down to tighten the laces of his running shoes. Then he stood, extended his arms above his head and tightening the knot of the green bandana covering his hair. He walked over to them, stretching done, and planted his feet in front of where they stood.

“Did you like it?”

“No,” Ryouma answered honestly.

Kaidoh huffed, eyes narrowing at him. “Inui makes it with my fitness routine in mind, so it wouldn’t do a scrawny brat like you much good anyway.”

“Ryouma could beat you in a tennis match any day viper, then we’ll see who’s scrawny!” Momoshiro spat before he realized - Kaidoh thought he was an orange loving asshole from the United States, not his rival’s roommate.

Kaidoh looked taken aback, both by the name reveal and the offense of being told he’d lose to someone younger than him at tennis. “I thought your name was Ryouga?” He looked genuinely pissed off. “ _You’re_ Ryouma?!” He turned his anger to Momoshiro. “Why the hell did you bring your boyfriend to work?”

“He’s not my- we’re not dating!” Momoshiro said, but his face was dark red.

“I don’t even know why you lied!” Kaidoh snapped, extremely close to shoving a pointed finger into Momoshiro’s chest. “What the hell are you doing? Did you bring him to show off?!”

“Show off to who? Marui? _You?_ ” Momoshiro spat out the last word. “As if I’d show off _anything_ to you!”

“You’re a boastful bastard, of course you would!”

“Okay, okay,” Ryouma said, stepping easily between them before they threw the f*ck down in the middle of the sidewalk. “Enough.”

“Whatever, you dumbass viper,” Momoshiro huffed angrily, turning on his heel and stamping away.

Kaidoh looked down at Ryouma. Ryouma looked back up at him, holding his stare steadily. It was hard, given how truly pissed off he was. And confused. Rightfully so.

“Why the hell did you guys lie to me about who you were?” Kaidoh finally asked after rubbing a hand over his face vigorously, as if to rub the grimace off his face. It didn’t work.

Ryouma wasn’t sure how honest Kaidoh wanted him to be, but he decided he’d rather face Kaidoh’s wrath now and never see the guy again than have Momoshiro face it later that night. “Momoshiro was worried about you…drinking that.” He didn't know if Kaidoh was well versed in the magic world, so he left it out of his explanation. It made the explanation seem wilder and even more without merit.

It clearly came across to Kaidoh as ridiculous, as he barked out a laugh, but Ryouma noticed the way his face flared up, even as he turned his head away. “W...what an idiot! Why would he worry about me?! I hate him.” Kaidoh reached up and adjusted his bandana, tugging it lower onto his brow. _Bashful,_ Ryouma thought absently. If Momoshiro knew this, he’d have a field day. “You can tell him I don’t need his _care_ , all I want is for him to _fuck. Off._ ”

And with that, Kaidoh jogged off, head low. Ryouma looked down at the cup of juice still in his hand, and walked over to the bench Kaidoh had been stretching on, and set it down on the seat.

There was no way, potion or not, he was taking that stuff home.


	16. Chapter 16

Once a week, Yukimura got a special delivery of great big sacks of dirt. Well, he said it was special dirt, with vitamins or something in it, but dirt was dirt to Kirihara. Usually, Sanada carried it downstairs, but he hadn’t spent the night last night, so as he signed for it, Yukimura looked to Kirihara and said, “Akaya, you can take this downstairs, can’t you?”

Kirihara looked at the bags, and paled a little. Each one of them looked like they weighed about as much as him. Yukimura seemed to sense his hesitation and reached out to squeeze one of his biceps. 

“Thank you,” he said, as though Kirihara had answered. “I knew I could count on you. You’re so strong, after all.” 

Because Kirihara was a big dumb gay baby, he practically melted right then and there, but nodded and said, “Y-yes, Yukimura. Okay.”

Yukimura smiled at him, and Kirihara missed the deliveryman’s smirk as the shop’s owner turned back to sign for the order. Kirihara grabbed the top of the first bag, tried to pick it up, and felt an unpleasant crick in his back. He’d severely misjudged this dirt. It weighed way more than him. He managed to drag it across the shop floor, hooking his toe under the latch of the trapdoor behind the counter and kicking it up. 

Kirihara had always known about the basement under the shop, but he’d never gone down into it. He’d seen Yukimura and Sanada go in and out, but the one time he’d tried to follow Yukimura down when he’d had a question about a delivery, the older man had nearly snapped his head off. It had been the one and only time he’d seen Yukimura angry, and the first time he’d seen his carefully composed calm crack. It had been a little scary, to be honest.

So he was honoured that Yukimura was finally trusting him enough to go down there, even if it was probably just because having the bags out on the shop floor would make the place look unsightly.

It took him a good five minutes to work the bag downstairs, dropping it down one step at a time, and it was a little embarrassing to think Sanada would make his way down and up with five bags in that amount of time.

Still. One down, four to go. Kirihara groped around downstairs for a light switch, not wanting to just abandon the bags at the bottom of the stairs. He found one, flicked it on, and flooded the basement with light.

The place was covered in plants. The basement was lined with neat, narrow tables, upon which rested trough-like pots filled with plants Kirihara had never seen before. Above the rows of tables hung bulky looking lights that Kirihara assumed were heatlamps, and he supposed Yukimura had them set to cycle on and off throughout the day, to simulate day and night. 

The plants were nothing like anything Kirihara had ever seen in the shop. For the most part, Yukimura sold the kind of flowers you’d find at any other flower shop - pretty ones, mostly. He grew and sold a few other, more unusual ones, little succulents and potted houseplants and cacti for people who didn’t want big, bright, cut flowers.

Kirihara had never seen anything like the plants in the basement before in his life, and before he knew it he was walking down an aisle between two rows of tables, inspecting them. There were ones with flowers the size of his palm, vividly patterned with a multitude of different colours. He passed a few that looked like oversized venus flytraps, the remains of… something in their open jaws, drool pooling around them on the floor. Kirihara stepped around the puddle, carefully. 

There was a trapdoor on the other side of the room. Kirihara couldn’t imagine where it led. Further down? To another basement? Double basement?! Yukimura would notice if he was gone too long, but curiosity got the better of him and he made his way towards it.

He reached down, and his fingers had barely brushed the handle before he heard, cold and clear from the opposite end of the basement, “Akaya.”

Kirihara straightened up quickly. He looked around, guiltily, to Yukimura, whose lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowed. This was the second time Kirihara had seen him angry. It was not as explosive as the first time, but in a way, it was worse.

“I don’t remember telling you to go exploring while you were down here,” Yukimura said.

“R-right. Sorry, Yukimura,” Kirihara stammered, feeling sheepish. “I was just… curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Yukimura said, echoing Sanada’s words, his tone still cool but now less icy. 

Kirihara mumbled another apology, but his breath hitched and he let out a shout when he felt something curl tightly around his ankle. He took a step back and stumbled, falling, landing hard on the concrete floor behind him. A plant pot tumbled to the ground after him, and he looked up to see a vine snaked around his leg, thorns piercing the denim of his jeans but not quite puncturing the skin under them.

Yukimura tutted, coming forward.

“Really, Akaya, you do cause such a scene sometimes,” he said, and Kirihara hoped he wasn’t imagining the hint of fondness that lay under his chastising tone. Yukimura reached out to scoop up the plant, roots dangling free now as soil fell away from them. The plant’s tendrils dropped away from him, and Yukimura said, “Go get me one of the pots from the corner.”

Kirihara sprang up, nodding, and made his way to get one. His face was flushed, and he wondered if Yukimura would take that out of his paycheck.

When he placed the pot down in front of Yukimura, the witch scooped some soil up from the ground, dropped it in, and placed the plant gently into it. He patted some more soil around its bare roots, then wiped his hands on the green apron he wore, straightening up. 

“Put it back on the table,” he said, turning away without looking at Kirihara. “And then bring the rest of the compost down. If I catch you dawdling again, I’m cutting today’s pay."

 

* * *

 

By the time Kirihara had finished dragging the bags down, he was covered in sweat, his hair curling even more extremely while damp. Yukimura deemed him no longer presentable enough to run deliveries, so he put him to work around the shop, scrubbing the bare wooden floor until it was spotless. Kirihara was exhausted by the time he’d finished, but he guessed this was his punishment for wandering earlier, so he didn’t complain.

Late in the afternoon, the bell above the door tinkled, and Kirihara looked up to see Sanada. He was about to shout out a greeting when he stopped, noticed Sanada was wearing a suit, and immediately lost his train of thought. He knelt there, staring, until Sanada broke the silence.

“Akaya,” he said, and Kirihara felt his heart flutter at the older man using his first name. “Where’s Seiichi?” 

Kirihara swallowed, his throat still dry, but before he’d even attempted to answer, Yukimura did so for him.

“I’m here,” he said, stepping into the front of the shop from the stockroom at the back. “Kirihara. Lock the door.”

Kirihara nodded, standing up and ignoring the ache he’d got at the base of his back from being knelt on the floor so long. He moved to flip the OPEN sign to say CLOSED and lock the door. When he turned around again, Yukimura was pulling away from a kiss, undoing Sanada’s tie with delicate fingers.

“How were your parents?” Yukimura asked.

“Fine,” Sanada asked, and Kirihara supposed that explained why Sanada hadn’t stayed over last night, if he was visiting his parents. From what he’d heard from brief conversations with Sanada, his family lived a good, long drive away. He’d have had to make an overnight trip.

“And your brother?”

“Fine.”

“Your grandfather?”

“Fine.”

“Sasuke?”

“Fine.”

“How nice, that everyone’s fine,” Yukimura said sweetly. He seemed annoyed, which was unusual - Sanada’s lack of conversation skills had never seemed to bother him before. Kirihara looked away, not wanting to witness an argument, but his attention was drawn back to them when Sanada dropped some things he’d carried in on the counter with a clatter.

Yukimura stepped forward to look through them, and out of curiosity, Kirihara did too. A couple of books and Sanada’s wallet and car keys lay on the table. Yukimura sifted through the pile, and pulled out a photo, his eyes narrowing as he looked at it.

“Is this what’s gotten you so wound up?” He asked. Kirihara scooted round to look at it. It as a picture of a woman, a few years older than Kirihara and fairly pretty, if a gay little man like himself could be the judge of that.

“They said they wanted me to come home for Sasuke’s birthday party,” Sanada muttered, “Then they dragged me to a meeting with a matchmaker.”

“Poor you,” Yukimura said, his voice dripping sarcasm. He placed the photo to the side, lifted one of the books. “What’s with the yearbooks?”

“They said I went to middle school with her,” Sanada muttered, tugging his tie off properly and undoing the top few buttons of his shirt. “I don’t remember her.”

“Really?” Yukimura said, dryly. His distaste was obvious. “How could you forget a pretty girl like that?”

“For God’s sake, Seiichi,” Sanada grunted, his voice low and dangerous, as though they’d had this argument before.

Deliriously, Kirihara thought,  _ mom, dad, don’t fight. _ He stepped forward, slapping his hands on the counter, and said, “I wanna see you guys in middle school!”

For a moment, he thought his desperate attempt to dispel the argument hadn’t worked. Then Yukimura smiled, one that seemed genuine and not at all like the venomous one he’d been giving Sanada just seconds before, and Sanada’s scowl lightened a little.

“Alright, then,” Yukimura said, and picked up the yearbook. He flicked through it until he found a class picture, then held it up to show Kirihara. “There. Can you spot Sanada?”

It was easy, even though Sanada must have been… thirteen? Fourteen?... in the photo. As young as he must have been, he was still heads taller than the rest of his classmates, already showing signs of the giant of a man he’d grow into.

“Were you held back, like, six grades?” Kirihara asked, earning a glare from Sanada. He went back to scanning the photograph, looking for Yukimura and not seeing him. He knew they’d grown up together. He’d expected to find them in the same photo. “Were you guys in different classes?”

Yukimura closed the book, placed it back down. Sanada seemed to be uncomfortable once again - he muttered about going for a shower and made his way out the back of the shop, to climb the stairs that led to Yukimura’s apartment. 

“He doesn’t like talking about it,” Yukimura said. “I was sick a lot, in middle school. Eventually my parents withdrew me from school and taught me from home… or from the hospital, as was the case most of the time.”

Kirihara was quiet. He didn’t really know what to say. Yukimura seemed healthy enough now - he was thin, and pale, but it had never occurred to Kirihara that he could have once been that ill. Warily, he asked, “Are you alright now?”

“Yes. Actually, my work with plants helped a lot,” Yukimura said. “Tending to them can be very therapeutic, in more ways than one.”

Kirihara wasn’t sure what that meant, but he never really understood magic. If he asked Yukimura to explain, he’d just end up getting more confused, so he picked up the picture of the woman again, looking at it.

“She’s pretty.”

“Do you want to marry her?” Yukimura teased. Kirihara glared at him- as much as he dared to glare at Yukimura.

“No thanks,” he muttered. “Don’t Sanada’s parents know that you’re dating?”

“They know. I just don’t think they care.”

Kirihara was quiet. Turned the picture over, read the name and age and occupation of the woman, and knew that Yukimura was better than her any day.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Yukimura said, reaching out to ruffle Kirihara’s hair. “It’s annoying, but I know he’s not interested. And even if he was, what woman would have him?” 

Yukimura moved to undo his apron, pulling it over his head, then looked to Kirihara.

“I should go apologize,” he said. “And you should go home. Good work today, Akaya.”


	17. Chapter 17

When Ryouma walked into the shop that morning, he was overwhelmed by the scent of freshly cut flowers. The front desk was littered with various bouquets, and Fuji was taking pictures of them against a white backdrop (really just a sheet pinned against the back wall), apparently deeply concentrating.

Ryouma stepped in, looked from the flowers to Fuji, and said, “Secret admirer?”

“Yukimura,” Fuji said.

“Kirihara will be devastated.”

“Very funny,” Fuji said, looking over his camera at him. He used a digital one today, something Ryouma knew by now wasn’t what he preferred. It was unusually quiet in the shop, without the clicks and whirrs of an analogue camera. “He wanted some pictures taken for business cards.”

Why Yukimura needed business cards in a town like this, Ryouma had no idea. It was small enough that practically everyone knew where his shop was, and it wasn’t like he had any competition. Ryouma sat on the stool, looked at the vases of bouquets covering Fuji’s desk, and said, “What are you going to do with them when you’re done?”

It wasn’t like they could keep them here - there was barely any space in the shop as it was.

“Why?” Fuji said. “Want to take some home for Momoshiro?” Ryouma felt himself flush, but he barely had time to mutter a response before Fuji said, “You’ll take them back, and he’ll sell them at a discounted price.”

Fuji finally set down his camera, picking up an envelope and dropping it onto the last bit of space left on the table.

“And take this back to him, too. It’s some photos he had developed a while ago.”

 

* * *

 

Making his way through town with two armfuls of flowers wasn’t exactly fun. The bouquets were enormous, to the point where he could barely see in front of him, the blooms blocking his view. When he reached Yukimura’s flower shop, the tinkling of the bell above the door was the only warning he had before someone collided with him, knocking him off his feet.

His precious cargo lying on the ground around him, Ryouma looked up to see Kirihara glowering over him.

“What are you doing here?” He demanded, eyes narrowed, before he laughed. “Ha! Oh, I see. Pretty stupid of you to bring _flowers._ Yukimura is a florist! What would he want with them? You could have at least brought chocolates or something!”

“What,” Ryouma said.

Kirihara just grinned down smugly at him, his smirk only faltering when Yukimura breezed past him and held out a hand, chastising him. “Really, Akaya, where are your manners?”

Ryouma took Yukimura’s hand, and the witch pulled him to his feet with surprising strength. Ryouma brushed off his clothes, then looked to what remained of his delivery, lying scattered around him on the ground. Yukimura bent to pick up one of the bouquets, the flowers in it now looking slightly limp, and tutted.

“Sorry,” Ryouma said. Kirihara leered at him from behind Yukimura, seemingly pleased Ryouma’s imaginary romantic gesture had been ruined.

“That’s alright,” Yukimura said. He waved his hand above the arrangement of flowers, almost-but-not-quite touching them like some kind of plant Reiki, and instantly they seemed refreshed. The flowers on the side the bouquet had landed on the ground spruced up, and Yukimura added, “It was Akaya’s fault, anyway.”

“I need you to sign for this.”

Ryouma held out the clipboard he carried, and Yukimura took it, signing the form with a flourish before holding both it and the bouquet out for him. Ryouma stared at him, confused, and Yukimura said, “Maybe you can give it to someone. Consider it a thank you for your good work.”

“I’d rather have a tip.”

“I’m sure Fuji gives you adequate pay already,” Yukimura said, smiling sweetly. He turned to return to the shop, leaving them with a clipped, “Akaya, pick up the mess you made.”

The door swung shut again, and Kirihara bent to pick up the fallen flowers.

“So,” Ryouma said, “What kind of chocolate does he like?”

“Shut up.”

“What did you get him?”

“Go to hell.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ryouma didn’t go to hell, but he sure did go back to the shop, cuz that was where he went after doing deliveries. Fuji raised his eyebrows at the one remaining bouquet Ryouma carried, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he said, “Good, you’re back. Come with me.”

Ryouma had finished his deliveries for the day, and he’d been hoping Fuji would let him clock off early. Instead, Fuji led him to the pokey little walk in closet he’d converted into a darkroom. Ryouma hesitated, standing in the doorway, and Fuji grabbed his wrist and pulled him in. The door slammed shut behind him.

It was very dark (duh). Fuji stood about a foot away from him, as much space as the tiny room allowed between them, and for a moment they were both so still that all Ryouma could hear was Fuji’s breathing, quiet and even. In contrast, Ryouma had caught his breath, and his heart was hammering. All he could think about was why Fuji had dragged him in here. Could he have… impure intentions?!

Oh, gawd. If they were going to make the leap from witch/apprentice to something a little more smexier, Ryouma would rather not do it in a cramped room that stunk of the chemicals Fuji used to develop photos. Ryouma heard Fuji move, somewhere in the dark, and Ryouma tensed. Instead of feeling his touch, though, he heard a small sound like a fire igniting, and the room was filled with a soft orange light.

Fuji held his hand up, palm towards the ceiling, a bundle of flames flickering in it. Ryouma looked at him, and Fuji said, “I thought I should show you your first spell.”

Ryouma’s look of bewilderment was replaced by a small smile. “About time. Did we have to do it in here?”

“You learn this sort of thing quicker if you’re in a situation where it’s absolutely necessary,” Fuji said. He closed his fingers into his palm, and the flames extinguished, leaving them in darkness once again. “You try.”

Ryouma didn’t move. “How?”

“There’s no magic word,” Fuji said. His hand found Ryouma’s wrist in the darkness, and lifted his arm. Ryouma took the hint, held it like Fuji had before, palm open. “It’s all inside you, already. You just have to envision it- conjure a flame. Will it into existence. Focus your energy on making it appear.” Ryouma tried, but lost his concentration when Fuji said, “And make sure it’s amber, or you’ll ruin my prints.”

It took a while - and a few failed attempts, sparks flying from Ryouma’s palm before sputtering out - before he finally had a handful of flames like Fuji had. They weren’t as bright, but they lit up the room enough that he could see Fuji’s face, make out his expression. He seemed pleased.

“Good job,” he said, his hand moving to grab Ryouma’s, curling his fingers inward. The light went out, and Ryouma was a little disappointed. “You can practice more on your own. You can go home now.”

“That’s it?” Ryouma said, pressed against the wall as Fuji pressed passed him when he didn’t move. “I didn’t expect us to be finished so soon,” Fuji said. He opened the door, and Ryouma followed him out quickly. “For most people, it takes a while longer. Good work.”

Ryouma huffed. It had seemed like such a simple spell, he had wanted to know more, but Fuji made it clear he was done. This long to learn how to light up a dark room- still, he couldn’t exactly complain. Fuji had taught him more about magic in less than twenty minutes than he’d learned from his father in his entire life, after all.

Fuji shoved the bouquet into his arms as he left the shop, making another stupid comment about giving them to Momoshiro, and Ryouma glowered at him, quickening his pace to leave. Fuji caught his arm, holding him back, and held an envelope up.

“Remember the coven meeting I was telling you about?” Fuji said. Ryouma nodded, and he held out the envelope. “The ticket arrived today. Be on your best behaviour - you’re representing the Fuji family.”

At home, Ryouma opened the envelope. Witchcon 2016 was in Okinawa. He carefully filed away the ticket in the kitchen drawer, next to the aspirin, and found the closest thing in the apartment they had to a vase for the flowers. Then he turned out the lights and sat on the couch, Karupin curled up in his lap, and practiced making fire in his hand.

The bedroom door slammed open an hour later, and Momoshiro still sounded half asleep as he said, “What the hell are you doing?”

Ryouma jumped, and the flames disappeared as he lost his concentration. He heard Momoshiro fumble for the lightswitch, and the room brightened again.

“Fuji taught me,” he said.

“What’s with the flowers?” Momoshiro asked.

Ryouma looked to the bouquet of twenty four red roses and the spray of white carnations, sitting in a large measuring jug on their kitchen table, and said, “Fuji gave them to me.”

He hadn’t really thought about it when he’d said it, but he snorted when Momoshiro’s eyebrows raised.

“Not gonna ask,” he muttered, turning to open one of the cupboards to get cereal, which he ate with his hands straight out of the box. Disgusting. They were quiet for a while, because Momoshiro had woken up late and had to snarf some cereal before work.

“Do you wanna come to Okinawa with me?” Ryouma asked, as Momoshiro put the box back in it’s place.

“Why would I want to go to Okinawa?” He asked, looking back at him. Ryouma couldn’t really think of an answer for that. He wasn’t even sure what there _was_ in Okinawa. Beaches? Momoshiro could catch a sweet tan while he was doing witch stuff? He was about to say that, when Momoshiro said, sounding bashful, “Maybe. If I can get time off work.”

Then he was out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.


	18. Chapter 18

The next morning, Fuji asked Ryouma to tend the shop, and Ryouma couldn’t help but wonder if he’d shown him some magic to butter him up before he asked for this favour. Ryouma didn’t like looking after the shop while Fuji ran errands - he didn’t know anything about cameras, and if a customer came in to pick up an order, Ryouma was no good at reading the kanji in the names stamped on the envelopes of developed photos.

Still. Fuji was his boss, so it wasn’t like he had a choice. Besides, it was raining, and minding the shop for an afternoon was better than running around town while it was wet out.

It didn’t seem like anyone else in the small town wanted to brave the bad weather, either. For an hour, Ryouma sat behind the counter undisturbed. He was flicking through one of the interior design magazines Fuji left lying around when the door slammed open. In barreled a pretty - and vaguely familiar - girl, and when she saw Ryouma, she grinned, pumping her fist.

“Yes! You’re as hot as Sakuno said you were,” she said. The name Sakuno was vaguely familiar, too.

“Do I know you?” Ryouma asked, more than a little bit confused. The girl’s umbrella was dripping all over the floor.

“I’m Tomoka!” She said. She sounded a little indignant, but didn’t dwell on it for long. “Fuji photographed my wedding.  _ You  _ delivered the pictures to Sakuno’s grandma.”

“Oh. Sakuno’s wife.”

“Bingo!” Tomoka grinned.

“That doesn’t really explain why you’re here,” Ryouma said. 

“You know about witchy stuff, right?” She asked. Ryouma’s half-committed shrug seemed to be a good enough answer for her, because she said, “I wanna find Sakuno an apprenticeship!”

“Fuji’s taken,” Ryouma said, a little indignantly, and Tomoka’s nose wrinkled.

“No, I don’t want her to learn from  _ that  _ weird guy,” she said. “She needs to go to Yukimura! Because he does, y’know, the flower stuff.”

Maybe it said something about how Ryouma was slowly warming up to Fuji, because he instantly wanted to correct her, let her know that for as weird as Fuji might be, Yukimura was a way bigger creep. At least, IRO (in Ryouma’s opinion), from the few times they had met. But Fuji  _ was _ still pretty weird, so he let it drop, and instead said, “why do you need me for this?”

“Because I don’t know how this stuff works! Do you need a resume? Because I wrote her a resume!” 

She slammed a slightly crumpled piece of paper on the counter in front of him. Ryouma wasn’t sure a string of office jobs was going to impress Yukimura.

“You don’t need a resume. I think she just needs to, like… ask.” Sakuno had asked, Ryouma remembered vaguely. Albeit through writing, and Yukimura didn’t seem like the type who’d pay much attention to his mail. Or maybe he never got it. Kirihara probably sorted it, like Ryouma did for Fuji, and he probably burned it all in fits of jealousy. “Or she could get someone to recommend her. That’s what Tezuka did for me.”

Tomoka was quiet for a moment, drummed her fingers on it, then clenched her hands into fists and slammed them down on it.

“That’s it!” She said, with a serious look on her face. “Sakuno’s too shy to ask that guy face to face, so we’ll do it. We’ll force him to take her on as an apprentice!”

Ryouma had met Yukimura. The guy acted all sweet, but Ryouma’s gut instinct told him not to fall for it, and he was inclined to believe his gut in this case. Trying to force one of the most powerful witches to do something was not on Ryouma’s to do list, but Tomoka - whether it was because she wasn’t a witch, and couldn’t really understand the true scope of what magic could  _ do _ , or because she just didn’t care - couldn’t be convinced of this. 

Ryouma tried to convince her, all the way to Yukimura’s store. He wasn’t going to be held responsible for Yukimura turning Tomoka into a toad if it got out that he’d been the one who had - unwittingly, maybe - given her the idea to  _ demand  _ an apprenticeship.

 

* * *

Kirihara was sweeping up in front of the shop when they arrived. When he saw them, his eyes narrowed, and he said, almost accusingly, “You again.”

“Hi,” Ryouma said. “Is Yukimura around?”

“What is your  _ obsession _ with him?” Kirihara demanded, and Ryouma had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from pointing out how hypocritical that was. Kirihara was projecting his issues with his boss onto him, clearly. 

“Ew. Who are you?” Tomoka asked, pushing between them and effectively ending the conversation, which Ryouma was grateful for. She shooed him. “We’re here to protest. Go away.”

“You can’t protest outside of our shop,” Kirihara snapped, trying to shoo her away with his broom.

“Our shop,” Ryouma repeated, one eyebrow cocked, and Kirihara blushed. Yukimura seemed to be nowhere in sight, and Tomoka seemed to be riling Kirihara up, which was more entertaining than anything back at the camera shop. “It’s okay. It would be a peaceful protest.”

“Um, no it wouldn’t,” Tomoka said, crossing her arms over her chest. Idly, Ryouma wondered who would win in a fight between Tomoka and Kirihara. It would be a close call, he decided. They were both pretty scrappy.

“I’m calling the police,” Kirihara said, and Tomoka caught his arm as he tried to retreat into the shop.

“No! Don’t! We won’t protest!” She seemed to have decided that being escorted off the property of the witch you were trying to get an apprenticeship from was generally not helpful. Instead, she frowned, and said, “We’ll… do a cheer routine… to appeal to Yukimura!”

Kirihara stopped in the doorway of the shop, smirking as he looked to Ryouma. “Will you?”

“Of course we will.” Tomoka seemed unfazed by his mocking tone and the physical step back Ryouma took. “I used to cheer Tezuka and Fuji on all the time at school when they had their tennis matches, y’know! Then I met Sakuno and joined the girls’ tennis club, but I’ve still got it. It’s like riding a bike. If riding a bike was coming up with rhymes, and stuff.”

She turned to Ryouma and grabbed two handfuls of his loose shirt, tying it off just above his stomach. Ryouma winced at the sudden chill. “Why.”

“You have to look cute while you cheer! And  _ I’m _ already wearing a crop top.” She said it like it was obvious. Then, leaning in, she said in a stage whisper, “Besides, odds in this town are Yukimura’s definitely into guys, so it wouldn’t hurt for you to show some skin.”

“Well, I’m certainly looking forward to seeing what you have prepared,” a cool voice cut in, and Ryouma tugged his shirt down over his abdomen as Yukimura appeared behind Tomoka, a bag of groceries cradled in his arm.

“Yeah! Let’s go!!!” Tomoka shouted with a flourish, spinning round to greet Yukimura with one hand on her hip and the other in the air. When Ryouma didn’t copy her pose, her raised hand dropped to grab his and drag it up. Then, waving her hands in movements that might have made sense if she’d had pompoms but which Ryouma didn’t even try to copy, she said, “Sa~ Ku~ No~!”

Yukimura smiled, his expression unwavering, in the silence that followed. Then he said, “Is that all?”

“Yay yay, Sakuno!” Tomoka finished, then dropped her hands to her side, looking a little sheepish and turning to Ryouma. “When I cheered for Seigaku’s tennis team, usually all I’d say was their names. It worked  _ then _ !”

“Maybe if you had a more enthusiastic partner,” Yukimura suggested, eyebrow raised as he looked to Ryouma before turning his gaze back to Tomoka. “Are you a new employee of Fuji’s?”

“As if,” Tomoka replied, her face scrunching up at the thought. No, I’m here to demand-” Ryouma nudged her in the side, and she glared at him before forcing a smile and adjusting her tone, sweeter now. “-I mean, I’m here to  _ recommend  _ you hire Sakuno Ryuzaki, (borat voice) my wife, as your apprentice.”

“Ryuzaki?” That seemed to get Yukimura’s attention, which surprised Ryouma. “Any relation to Sumire Ryuzaki?”

“Yeah! She’s her granddaughter!” Tomoka said, and the pride in her voice was obvious when she said, “And she’s even better than her grandma. She’s the best witch ever!”

“You wish,” Kirihara said indignantly, shoving past Ryouma to stand nose-to-nose with Tomoka. “Yukimura is the best witch ever.”

“Akaya, settle down,” Yukimura said sweetly, grabbing the back of Kirihara’s shirt and tugging him back. Kirihara bumped against Yukimura’s chest and seemed to have an internal breakdown as the older man reached a hand to pet his head. Like he was a puppy or something. Gross. If Fuji ever pet him, Ryouma would probably bite him. Yukimura looked back to Tomoka. “I’ve never met Sakuno, but I understand she’s interested in the school of magic I specialize. If she had contacted me herself, I would have at least been happy to speak with her.”

“Well, that’s a lie,” Tomoka said, “Because she’s written to you a bunch of times.”

Yukimura was quiet, but it didn’t seem like an admission of guilt. He sounded sincere as he replied, “I’m sorry. It’s Akaya’s job to sort the mail. Maybe he got careless when he was sorting through it.”

“Probably got mixed in with all the stupid love letters you get,” Kirihara grumbled, tossing his broom down and stalking out of Yukimura’s reach, back into the shop. 

Yukimura watched as he left them, eyes dark for a moment, before he turned his attention back to the Ryotomos and his gaze lightened again.

“I hope Sakuno can accept my apologies,” he said, “If she wants to come by the shop anytime this week, I’ll be sure to speak to her personally about all this.”

That didn’t seem like a yes to Ryouma, but Tomoka seemed more than happy with it, if the way she cheered and hugged him meant anything. On the way back to Fuji’s shop, all she could do was talk about how  _ nice  _ Yukimura had been. Ryouma couldn’t help but wonder how much he had done it to piss off Kirihara.


End file.
